Spelled
by Jessibelle811
Summary: Cedric is on the receiving end of a misplaced spell, causing him to act in an unorthodox manner. What will Sofia think of the man that's been lurking under the guise of her patient mentor? Dark-ish Cedfia.
1. Chapter 1

Update 7/11/2016: Fixed a few typos and some minor sentence changes.

Author's Note: This is one of those, "Don't ask me where this stuff comes from, I'm just the writer." I set out to write a true one-shot, like Intoxication was supposed to be, but my brain had other ideas. This has been languishing on my computer for a few months going nowhere. I figured I might as well post it and see what you guys thought of it.

In this little fic Cedric is on the receiving end of a misplaced spell that has him acting in an, um, unorthodox manner. I meant to write a fairly straight forward excuse for Cedric and (adult, grown up, etc) Sofia to get it on, but it took a decidedly darker turn. I liked the idea of Cedric as a predator just a little too much. There's some (very) vague links to my all time favorite fairy tale Little Red Riding hood.

This fic is definitely all about Cedric challenging Sofia's wide-eyed innocence. As always, Sofia is at least 18.

* * *

Spelled: Chapter 1

Sofia stood in the wings waiting to enact her part of the plan. With her apprentice wand hidden safely inside her elbow-length evening glove, she peeked out at the dance floor. Dozens of swirling ball gowns created a kaleidoscope of color, offering a momentary distraction as she waited for her sister's signal.

A flash of yellow and gold passed into her line of sight. Their eyes met in silent agreement before Amber slid her gaze to the left, indicating the corner just behind where Sofia stood. The brunette nodded in understanding and her sister smirked before a mask of placid interest slid over her face. Sometimes Sofia found it unnerving how easily her sister could mask her true emotions, playing the part of the bored, unruffled aristocrat to the hilt. Inside she knew Amber was seething.

Sofia leaned out from the alcove, not so much hidden as unobtrusive to the casual observer. She watched Amber approached their intended target. Slipping her wand out of its hiding place, she held it steadily despite her reservations. Doubts about this plan had plagued her from the beginning. Spelling a person without their knowledge breeched not only her personal ethics, but every moral philosophy that governed the practice of magic. What they planned was dishonest, underhanded, and immoral. But then, so was the individual from which Amber sought retribution. Sofia tried to assuage her guilt, reminding herself that the spell wouldn't cause any permanent damage, just expose his true desires, disclosing the unfavorable personality hiding beneath a veneer of charming civility.

Amber played her part flawlessly. Sofia couldn't read lips, but she could easily imagine her sister's words, carefully chosen to lure him in.

"Why, hello Hugo," she'd say, pitching her voice low while her left eyebrow raised.

"Don't be silly," she'd say when he expressed surprise at her cordial attitude towards him considering their last encounter.

"Oh, that."The blond princess would snap open her fan with practiced ease, lightly fanning her neck and exposed décolletage while fluttering her eyelashes. "Don't spend another moment on it. I know I haven't."

A practiced actress, Amber could produce a false personality on demand. Sofia knew what Hugo's arrogance and negligence had cost her sister. He would have no indication of Amber's hurt until her punishment had already been extracted.

Now Sofia merely waited for her cue. Amber would take Hugo's arm, leading him to a dance. Sofia's part rested on timing her spell precisely as they passed close by. Hugo would never know what happened, only feel the effects. The spell was simple enough, but her hands sweated all the same. Relief rushed in to soothe her nerves when they approached. She wanted this whole business over with and thoroughly regretted agreeing to this plan in a moment of sympathy. Once she gave her word Amber wouldn't allow her to renege, though Sofia had made her objections perfectly clear.

She readied her wand, holding it close to stay out of sight. Amber steered Hugo close to Sofia's hiding place. They would pass within an arm's length; all she had to do was aim straight.

Three more steps ...

Two ...

One.

She whispered the incantation, keeping her wand pointed ahead of her.

"What are you doing?"

At the moment the spell left her lips and she felt the familiar zing of magic traveling up her arm, through her finger tips and out the end of her wand, a tall, dark figure filled her vision. She watched helplessly as the spell jumped from the end of her wand into the man standing barely a foot from her.

* * *

Cedric had come around the corner, spotting his pupil sequestered quietly in an alcove, which in its self was a troubling sign. The girl was never quiet, and rarely still. He thought she might grow out of her constant exuberance as she crested adulthood, but even age couldn't constrain her. Beyond her uncharacteristic stillness, the tight posture of her stance suggested instantly that she was up to something.

Distracted, her focus intent on something in the distance, she took no notice of him as he approached. When he spoke, she jumped, her eyes going wide in surprise. He felt a curious buzz pass through him that tingled with familiarity. He scowled down at her, presuming the feeling was the result of misplace sympathy for startling her. And she must have been startled indeed, as her expression hinted at a feeling beyond shock that bordered on horror.

"Mister Cedric! You, um ... you surprised me." She eyed her mentor carefully, rearranging her face into something of a less shocked expression. She glanced around him in time to see Amber pass by with Hugo. The blond peered curiously over her shoulder, making eye contact. Sofia shrugged helplessly, tilting her head in a quick, sharp gesture towards the sorcerer. Without words the message was relayed. Amber scowled at the tall man, angry at his unintended interference.

"Yes," he said carefully, feeling curiously uneasy. "Well then, what are you doing?"

"Me?" She hid her wand in the folds of her skirt. "I'm fine. How are you feeling?"

He peered down at her, suspicion growing in his expression. "I asked _what_ you were doing, not _how_ you were doing."

"I'm not doing anything." Her eyes darted around, looking for the nearest exit.

"That's exactly my point. You're never just doing nothing. So I'll ask again, what are you doing?"

"Um," she chewed her lip nervously. She needed to devise a means of escape, for both of them. But she didn't wish him to know why if it could be avoided. A lie sprang to her lips with surprising ease. "Actually, I'm not feeling at all well. It's a bit hot in here and I'm feeling dizzy. Would you mind walking with me for a bit?"

His suspicious expression evaporated, replaced by concern. She batted her lashes, trying to appear frail. Coquettish tricks almost never worked on Mister Cedric; he always saw through her. But on occasion she could rely on his vanity to blind him to her trickery. She hoped today was one of those days.

"O-of course," he sputtered, his voice going high at the end.

Sofia smiled in genuine affection and breathed a little easier. She needed to get him out of the ballroom before the spell took hold. She'd never forgive herself if she were the cause of embarrassment for him, knowing her underhanded scheming had caused him distress. And he would likely never forgive her either.

Quickly she formed a plan. There was a counter-spell, though she couldn't readily remember it. She considered guessing at the right spell, but quickly discarded the idea. She didn't wish to cause further damage, and the answer easily lay in one of the books in his study. They just had to get back to his workshop, then it would be a simple matter to reverse the effects.

As they strolled across the dance floor, weaving between the crowd she noticed Cedric blinking hard, occasionally shaking his head as if to clear it. The need to hurry pressed speed into her strides.

"This way." She dared to slip her arm through his, a gesture normally reserved for a suitor or intended, but she had more important matters to worry about than fueling gossip.

A few guests lingered in the hallway, catching a breath of fresh air from the open windows. Cedric looked down at her dainty gloved hand clutching his arm and flushed. She was momentarily afraid he'd protest, but a subtle smirk played around the corners of his mouth.

Sofia nodded hello to a few guests as they passed, trying not to appear in a hurry.

Cedric's eyes lingered over the Duchess of Enderhaven. "What an awful dress," he remarked loud enough for the woman to hear.

Sofia picked up her pace. "You'll have to forgive Mister Cedric," she called over her shoulder as they passed, "He's not feeling well."

"I feel fine. I thought you weren't feeling well."

"Please, Mister Cedric," she implored, nearly dragging him in her wake, "lower your voice."

"Why?" He shrugged indignantly. "It is an ugly dress."

They were out of earshot of the small crowd and Sofia didn't bother to chide him further. It wouldn't do any good. She managed to guide him along the hall to the grand staircase before he began asking questions.

"Just where are we going?"

"To your workshop," she sighed, knowing that lying would prove useless.

"Why are we going there? Won't you be missed at your blasted ball?" His voice sounded insolent, lacking its usual obsequious tones. It belied his true distaste for the social gathering of the wealthy.

"Actually, no," she urged him along. "Amber knows what to do."

"You are up to something. I knew it."

"Please, Mister Cedric, we just need to get to your workshop."

"Very well." She looked at him, surprised by his easy compliance. An enigmatic smile danced around the corners of his mouth. If She didn't know him better she'd say he looked amused, but Cedric never seemed amused. By anything. And she'd known him going on eleven years. "Lead on, Princess, but you will tell me what's going on."

"Anything, let's just get there."

"My aren't we eager." Nothing about his words should have caused her to blush, but something in his tone unexpectedly brought color to her cheeks.

As they mounted the stairway approaching his door, Sofia felt spurred on by need, driven to correct her mistake. Closing the door behind them, she deposited him upon his stool like an invalid. Physically he was perfectly sound, but his mentality was a different issue.

"Sit here," she ordered before turning to her task. She perused the book shelf, murmuring titles until she came upon one that sounded promising. Fetching the thick tome down, she laid it out on the bench before her. Focused on finding the correct spell, she never heard him approach.

Thumbing rapidly through the worn pages, she paused when a pair of hands appeared, one on either side of her waist, laying flat on the table. She blinked in surprise to feel his chest press against her back, his arms caging her in. She froze, stunned completely by his actions. For years she'd been Cedric's apprentice, learning magic at his patient hands, but they'd never touched like this. She'd hugged him on the rarest of occasions, and he always pushed her hastily away. Other than that they only shared the briefest of touches, and always in a precise, impersonal manner while working on a potion or spell together.

"What are you doing?" He asked her. His breath ghosted over her ear, rippling goose flesh down her neck.

She hoped he was perhaps taking a professional interest in this strange occurrence, but the warmth of his body along hers left her doubtful. She had to swallow twice before any sound came out of her mouth. "I'm looking for a spell."

"I can see that," he chuckled. Standing so close, she felt the reverberation of his chest resonate through her back. "What spell would that be exactly? And why? I did say you would tell me everything."

That sounded like a promise, or maybe a threat. The effect left her feeling nervous and excited at the same time. She fumbled for something to say.

"Let's see, shall we?" He rested his chin on her shoulder, tilting his head down to peer at the book. The movement pressed him more firmly against her.

"How to de-scale a dragon? No, I don't think that's it." His right hand raised up to flip the page, brushing his arm along her waist. "Perhaps how to turn a teapot into a tortoise? No. How to purify bog water? Kill off rag weeds? Put a mountain troll to sleep? Hmm, this book doesn't seem to be of much help at all."

Sofia wasn't paying attention. While he'd flicked through pages, naming off useless spells, his left hand had curled around her, his thumb gently caressing her abdomen. His touches excited something in her that she'd never expected to feel in his presence. She always comported herself with the utmost manners when in his company, never once hinting at the attraction she harbored deep down.

She spent her leisure surrounded by the young and handsome gentlemen of noble breeding, and she was attracted to several of her peers, but Mister Cedric held a particular interest for her. His unusual look, rough personality, even his questionable morals fascinated her. But he'd never once suggested that he reciprocated any such attraction and to be suddenly exposed to the idea left her floundering.

"Mister Cedric, I believe I need to confess something." Flustered by his inappropriate attentions, she threw away all caution. She would have to come clean about the ill-fated plan between Amber and herself, and hope the consequences weren't too severe.

He turned his face so his nose was buried in her hair, his mouth beside her ear again. "Oh, a confession," he murmured, his voice making her shiver. "Yes, do tell me your sins, Princess."

The deep tenor of his voice seemed to resonate down her spine, rising to a thrumming crescendo in her core. She turned abruptly in his embrace, embarrassed by her own desire. She pressed her hands against his chest, putting some distance between them. "You're under a spell," she blurted.

Cocking his head to the side like a curious owl, he seemed disinclined to care as his eyes traced the outline of her lips. "Truly? And what spell am I under exactly?"

She licked her lips, nervous of his attention. His arms encircled her, and she couldn't gather the will to fight against what she'd wanted in the secret recesses of her heart. It was an illusion, she told herself, but it was one rooted in truth.

"No, let me guess." His lips parted in a mischievous grin that was thoroughly out of character. "Amplexus Amantium?"

"No," she murmured, at once entranced and dumbfounded by his mercurial temperament. His hands slid along her back, one traveling up to brush the bare skin between her shoulders, holding her closer.

"Conspectu Libidinem?"

"Um, no." She angled back, bumping into the workbench behind her, as he crowded her in.

"Verus Amor." He leaned towards her.

She fought the urge to let him kiss her. "You're not yourself." But she knew that was a lie. He was more himself now than any other time. The spell made sure of it. That was exactly why she and Amber had chosen it for Hugo.

The tip of his nose brushed hers. "Am I not? I haven't done anything that I haven't dreamed of a hundred times before."

Her eyes shot wide, utterly astounded by his confession. "Really?"

"Indeed," he murmured, closing the space between them.

Sofia was too shocked to respond when his lips brushed over hers softly. He didn't try to deepen the kiss as she expected, rather he pulled slightly away to sigh against her lips.

"Oh, what I would do to you, little princess."

His slight kiss had left her lips tingling. But she was more thrown that he wanted to kiss her at all. "Wha- What do you want to do to me?" She whispered, hardly trusting her voice.

"Well," he turned his head, brushing the tip of his nose along her cheek to the shell of her ear. His voice thrummed low and husky. He spoke slowly, with purpose, as if he wanted to paint each word vividly in her mind. He wanted her to see them they way he saw them. "First, I'd take you upstairs to my bedroom. There I'd remove each piece of your clothing, one by one, slowly, being careful not to touch any bit of your skin."

She was caught in the web of his voice, weaving a dark spell that burst inside her imagination in vivid detail. His thumb brushing gently across her skin felt like he was stroking her very soul. Her voice came out a hoarse whisper, thick with curiosity. "Why not?"

"Eager, aren't we?" He chuckled darkly. "That's good to know. I wouldn't touch you yet because I want you to shiver in anticipation. I want you to burn for my touch."

His voice dropped another octave. His mouth was so close to her ear she could feel the tickle of his warm breath and the barest whisper of his lips. It did make her shiver. "When I finally do touch you, I want you already wet for me."

 _What?_ She wondered over his meaning for the briefest of seconds before the truth sank in. Her cheeks flamed, and she didn't believe she could blush any deeper. But the seeds of his words blossomed ripe and full in her mind's eye. By all the realms, she did want him to touch her. Badly. The light brush of his thumb drawing circles between her shoulder blades awakened her, striving to capture every bit of sensation.

She shuttered to think on how he would react to this conversation once the spell wore off. She wavered in indecision, wanting to mitigate the damage, but tempted to let it go on just a little bit more.

"And then?" She murmured, keeping her eyes down.

"And then, what?"

She swallowed. "What would you do then?"

"When?"

She frowned, gathering the courage to look at him. He was toying with her, she realized.

"Go ahead," his smile was beguiling, "You can say it."

Sofia wondered wildly if this was how it felt to be tempted with forbidden fruit. Unable to look away from his intriguing eyes, she felt like a rabbit trapped by a wolf. Her heart began to beat too fast. "What would you do once I'm ...," she couldn't bring herself to use the same word he had. It was hard enough to say, "Excited?"

"You mean aroused?"

Her guileless eyes widened to blue saucers and she licked her lips, wishing for a drop of water to whet her dry throat. She managed a nod, unable to offer any murmured response.

He pulled away so suddenly that she tried to follow on instinct. His hands remained at her waist, holding her at arm's length. His expression changed, his enticing smile turning into a sneer. "But what would you know about all this? The unblemished flower of Enchancia, I hardly suspect you even know what transpires between and man and woman in bed."

The sting of his assessment shocked her with its intensity. "I know exactly what sex is, thank you very much," she found herself blurting before embarrassment could take hold.

"Really?" His smile curled into another devious grin. "And what exactly would you know about it, Princess?"

He'd done more smiling in this one evening than she'd seen in a decade. But these smiles were taunting, seeming to mock her. It turned her wide-eyed arousal to ire.

"I-," she stuttered to find a response. " I just do."

He cupped her chin in his palm, tilting her eyes up to his face. He regarded her with interest, before smiling again. She was beginning to despise those smiles. They made her nervous. "I'd wager all the kingdom's gold that you're a virgin."

"Why, of course I am," she sniffed with wounded pride. She was virtuous, as any princess should be. Who was he to mock her for it?

He sighed, sounding bored. "Do know what virgins are?"

"Pure and chaste," she answered immediately.

"Tedious," he said, his tone flat.

She tore her face from his hand, edging away. She'd had enough of this strange version of her sorcerer. He was an intriguing diversion at first, but somewhere things had turned. Now he seemed cynical, even cruel.

"I didn't mean to offend." Cedric folded his arms and began walking in a slow circle around her. "I'm only offering you the truth, dear Princess. How many people can you say that about?"

"I don't know what you mean." She struggled not to turn to keep him in sight. She tried to gather her strength with indignant rage. "I don't know anyone who lies to me. Except apparently you. It would seem you've been lying to me for years."

"Oh," he seemed unperturbed by the accusation, "Do tell."

"The way you're acting now. This isn't you, but it is."

"You're not making any sense," he continued on in the same, unbothered tone.

"The spell isn't a love or lust spell. It's a truth spell."

He paused in his circling, contemplating. "That makes sense," he muttered more to himself than to her. "The truth hurts, doesn't it little girl."

"I'm not a little girl," she jerked her skirts viciously, turning about to face him.

"To me you are. Not in body, mind you." His eyes did a slow sweep up her body, lingering a beat too long on her rounded breasts. His casual appraisal left her feeling sullied by the suggestive glint in his eyes."No, there you're all grown up. But in your mind, you still believe the world is sunshine and flowers. You believe that every servant is your friend, not that they are paid to do your bidding. You're well-liked, don't doubt that, but they will tell you anything you want to hear. What servant wants to be the one who angered the rulers of the realm? There's a saying, Princess, the nail that sticks out gets the hammer.

"But we've become distracted. What were we speaking about?" He asked, though she knew he hadn't forgotten. "Ah, yes, virgins and their tedium."

She fought back angry tears. She didn't want to believe it. Any of it. But she really didn't wish to believe this of him; That this is who he truly was beneath the surface, callous and cruel.

"There's the physical," he went on, undaunted by the embarrassed anguish on her face. "All the tears and pain. It hurts the first time for women, did you know that?"

She shook her head, horrified.

"I suspected as much." He went back to pacing around her. He seemed to be speaking to himself more than her, contemplating. "But there are other, more enjoyable things I could do to you. No need to compromise your virtue completely." He passed into her line of sight, making eye contact. The heat in his eyes emanated pure sin.

She stood there, frozen with attraction and the scent of danger. His mercurial nature proved unnerving, but curiosity tempted her. He was under a truth spell, bound by magic to disclose his true thoughts and feelings, but he was acting like a complete stranger from the man she saw day in and out. So much of himself had remained hidden from her notice, and now he spoke plainly of wanting to do devious things for her pleasure.

He wanted to pleasure her.

He'd thought on it and she'd never suspected.

She knew it was wrong to give in.

"Intrigued?" His right eyebrow cocked up. "Shall I detail out some examples? I hardly suspect you know what I speak of."

She gulped, wondering at the options. She should insist he perform the counter spell , or allow her to. But he was aware of his current compromised state and didn't appear concerned.

"Has anyone ever touched you," his eyes swept downward, "There?"

She blinked, paralyzed with uncertainly. She shouldn't be discussing such things with him.

He stepped closer, intrigued by her silence. "Have you even touched yourself?"

Trapped by his intent gaze, she managed a slight nod, her eyes sinking to the floor in shame.

He slid closer, tilting his head to catch her eyes. "But no one else, am I correct?"

"No one," she whispered, uncertain why she would answer such a question.

His fingertips caressed her cheek and she looked at him, mystified by the gentle touch. "Shall I be the first?"

Her mouth worked, but no sound came out. That he would suggest ... That she would consider ...

Her mind spun off in a thousand directions at once, chasing the options. Clearly she should refuse, but something in his tone had changed. It held a potent mixture of sincerity, hope, and just a touch of desperation. He wanted her to say yes. The very idea sent her mind reeling.

"Or I could kiss you."

She nearly sighed in relief. Finally a tame and familiar expression of affection. "Well, that is customarily the place to start," she offered, tilting her head towards him, wanting to feel the tingle of his lips again.

He chuckled and it sounded dark to her ears. "I meant down there."

She straightened immediately. "Oh!" Blood rushed to her face and she imagined she must look like as red as a summer tomato. He could kiss her ... down there? The very thought was scandalous. Wasn't that indecent? Wrong? Was she some sort of deviant ? Because she was very much considering the option.

"Perhaps not," his mouth puckered in a silky moue of contrite apology, but that duplicitous smile still toyed around the edges. "I don't think you're quite ready for that."

She wanted to protest, but snapped her mouth shut. Shouldn't she protest such a suggestion? Confusion twisted her thoughts and desires into a tangled jumble. Despite her mental indecision, her body seemed to know what it wanted. Heat coiled in her belly, rising to an inferno between her thighs. She pressed her knees together, not sure if she meant to halt the sensation or heighten it.

"Let's start with something simple, shall we?" He peeled off one glove after the other before tossing them both carelessly to the floor.

She allowed him to approach, her whole body tight with anticipation. She expected he might kiss her as he had before, but instead his bare hands slide round her, framing her corseted waist. He continued to look her in the eye and she was too intent on his gaze to protest. She felt like she was the one under a spell, unable to refuse what she wanted so deeply. Her whole life she'd been told how good she was, but perhaps she was actually very wicked indeed.

One of his hands moved lower, his right eyebrow arching in challenge when he began to gather up the lengths of her skirt, raising the edge of the elegant garment off the floor.

She felt a bit like one of those ridiculous heroines in the bawdy novels Amber and her friends passed around in secret. Every breath pressed her breasts sharply against the edge of her bodice. Her stiff nipples were a subtle torture where they chafed against the confines of her corset.

This is wrong. So wrong.

The words replayed like a mantra in her mind. He raised her skirt up around her waist. The bare skin of her thighs tingled in the cool air. She nearly jumped when his warm hand caressed the lavender rosettes embroidered onto the lace trimmings of her stockings.

He fingered the delicate satin threads. "How charmingly ironic," he muttered.

She didn't understand his meaning, but when his fingertips slid up to touch her bare thigh she lost the ability to comprehend anything but the yawning ache that screamed: _Yes! Yes!_ and, _Just a bit closer, please_. Her knees parted obligingly and she turned her face away in bashful shame. She shouldn't ...

His touch danced over the satin of her bloomers, less a caress and more a question. She couldn't help the answering undulation of her hips.

When he pressed against her firmly, she moaned outright.

She cringed despite the pleasure, embarrassed that while his words had offended her mind, her body reacted with arousal. _Wicked_ , her mind taunted, _wicked, wicked girl_.

His other hand came up to cup her chin. The gentle insistence of his touch on her face contradicted the needy pressure of his other touch below. She allowed her head to turn towards him.

He watched her intently, his expression carefully blank except for the excited rasp of his breath and the banked fire behind his eyes. She wanted him to kiss her. His thumb swept across her lower lip and she parted her mouth in invitation. When he moved towards her, she was already leaning in, but he veered off to press his mouth to her throat, just below her ear. His busy fingers left the damp satin of her drawers to crawl up to the waistband of her drawers. His hand slipped slowly and deliberately inside, gliding over her lower belly, into the nest of curl no other person had ever touched.

Her threadbare composure cracked. Desperate to hold something of substance amidst her wildly shifting emotions, she grasped his forearm, not restraining, but encouraging his explorations.

"What do you think about?" He whispered, startling her.

She searched for an answer. "W-What?"

His fingers skimmed closer to the beating heart of her virgin sex. She held her breath. _Please, please ..._

His tongue flicked out to caress her ear lobe, eliciting a gasp from her. "When you touch yourself?"

She moaned quietly, in distress or pleasure, she wasn't sure. Perhaps both. He was so close, but moving so slowly. Teasing her. "When I ...," she couldn't stop her hips from rolling towards him, seeking absolution. "I ...,"

She shouldn't say ...

He drew the edge of her sensitive ear between his lips and sucked.

"I ...," her other hand came up to clutch his robes in a desperate grip. His fingers brushed between her legs, testing around the edges. _Yes, please ..._

"You," she gasped, humiliation washing over her.

His fingers stilled for a moment, and she huffed in frustrated anguish. "You'll make a fine ruler one day," he replied evenly, his tone surprisingly bitter.

"What?" She blinked in a daze.

He started moving again. His fingertips slipped between her folds and her mind washed blank as a wave of pure sensation engulfed her.

"To lie so convincingly under duress."

She was scarcely able to follow the thread of his words. Her head shook back and forth, barely aware of what she did. "But, I'm not ..."

He bit down on her ear, not hard enough to mark her flawless skin, but the slight sting surprised her. "Don't," he growled, his voice rough. "Just ... don't"

She wanted to protest, but his words fell away as his rocking hand elicited alien sensations. She'd explored her own body, but his touch was somehow _more_ : the feeling fuller, deeper, more intense. His fingers slid easily over her sex and she realized she'd fulfilled his desire: she was indeed wet.

A helpless whimper caught in her throat, rolling her hips against his questing fingertips. She quaked as much from the knowledge of his desire for her as from his touch. Pressing her cheek against the warm skin of his throat, her lips sought him out. She feathered light kisses over his neck, before brushing across the light stubble on his cheek. Seeking some tenderness to ease the sting of his earlier words, she arched back, pressing deeper against his hand, while rearing back to seek his mouth with her own. Her lips barely touched his before he pulled away again.

"Why won't you kiss me?" Her voice broke on a pleading sob.

He hesitated, his eyes clouding with indecision for the first time.

"Please," she whimpered, needing some familiar and caring act to anchor herself to.

Her plea seemed to break something free inside him. He surged against her, kissing her hard while his fingers breeched her body. Her lips parted in a gasping moan and his tongue filled her mouth in a crude act of possession sure to challenge her innocence. She tried to kiss him back, barely aware of her own actions, her thoughts scattering as her consciousness was torn between concentrating on his mouth or his hand. A sweet stretching sensation caused her inner muscles to clamp as he eased a second finger into her.

She whimpered, on the verge of overwrought tears. The burning, rising sensation in her core built higher each time his finger thrust up and deep into her. Every muscle in her body stretched taut, forcing her up on her toes. His thumb pressed up, rubbing the most sensitive part of her womanhood and she tore her mouth away with a pealing moan. A fierce wave of ecstasy enveloped her, more intense than any completion she'd ever managed from her own novice touches. She clutched at him, relying on him to keep her from shattering into pieces.

He pulled his hand from beneath her skirts abruptly, leaving her floundering in the wake such pleasure. Sofia embraced him, hugging him tightly to her as she continued to shiver, unaware that he didn't return the gesture. Exhausted tears gilded her lashes, one slipping down her cheek before dripping off her chin. A muddled indolence weighted her limbs, a poignant disparity to her restless mind.

She'd just been fondled by her mentor and teacher. A man twice her age, she should be filled with humiliation and shame. A proper maiden would rather perish than surrender her virtue; another willing casualty on the altar of propriety. She must be a very wicked girl indeed, her true provincial nature showing as she craved for him to continue; to bestow upon her the other carnal delights he'd hinted upon.

She tilted her head back, her neck lolling like a well oiled hinge. She blinked in lazy awareness, her fluttering lashes loosening another tear. She watched Cedric's eyes trace the smudged track left behind in its wake. He swallowed deeply, the taunting, self-assured man dissolving before her eyes like a water colored painting left out in the rain. Remorseful shame crept in, evident in the sullen tilt of his mouth, and wide searching eyes. In turns intriguing and frightening, she was curiously sad to see this brash stranger go.

"Cedric?" She murmured, humbled by the wavering tremble in her voice. That was the first time she'd ever called him by his proper name.

He pried her nerveless fingers from his robes. She let him push her away, too inept at this foreign dance to do anything but follow his lead.

Staring intensely down at the floor, Cedric blinked hard, shaking his head as if trying to dislodge his very thoughts. The furrow of his brow and clenched hands cautioned her to silence. Apprehension crept in to overtake embarrassment, blooming full flower in her chest. Fully cognizant of his compromised state, she'd allowed him to take liberties neither could afford, no matter how much she'd enjoyed it.

"Get out."

His flat tone cut through her tumultuous thoughts with brutal efficiency. "What?"

"Get. Out."

"You want me to leave?" Confusion threatened to smother her in the face of her tortured nerves. "Now?"

He shook his head, but said, "It doesn't matter what I want. You need to leave."

She gaped at him. He seemed to be warring with himself, and she wasn't sure what she should do. She felt like she had to fix the damage she'd carelessly done. But when she stepped closer, he jerked away in a slightly frantic movement.

"Don't."

The harshness of his tone warned her way. She bit her lip in uncertainty, feeling a shiver of fear shoot down her spine. His glazed eyes darkened, staring at the contours of her mouth. He looked fit to jump on her like a starving dog upon a morsel of meat. She took an involuntary step back. Her fear only seemed to heightened his dark-eyed arousal.

When she backed away, he advanced on her, his voice a silk purr that sounded completely foreign from his usual acerbic tones. "Or perhaps you should stay. You seemed so wonderfully eager a moment ago. I've already compromised your virtue. It would be such a small matter to ruin you completely."

Her still tingling sex throbbed like a wound, mocking her foolish innocence. How had she thought she could compromise her body without losing her soul? At the moment Cedric seemed the perfect incarnation of a fallen angel. A inky harbinger summoned up to drag her down into carnal destruction.

In her wide-eyed fantasies she'd imagined stolen kisses and sweet caresses, but nothing like this dark temptation. She trembled, afraid less of him and more of the unknown ruin he suggested. Her first blush with true pleasure had opened a vein of erotic curiosity, but the pulse beating wildly in her throat warned that she wasn't prepared to accept the sensuous bargain he offered.

She wavered in indecision, caught between her exceptionally pristine soul and this new born desire. She wasn't sure if she wanted to plead his forgiveness or beg him to touch her again.

He circled her. This time she felt a shiver of trepidation when he disappeared from her line of sight. Goose flesh prickled between her shoulder to have him at her back.

Suddenly he gripped her by the waist, his fingers digging in hard enough to feel them through her gown and corset. He pulled her back and pressed against her in the same rough motion, molding his body to hers ruthlessly. She felt his bared teeth against her ear. "Run, little girl, before I eat you up."

He shoved her forward just as quickly as he'd snatched her against him a moment before, and she stumbled a step towards the door. Overwrought and horrified, she scrambled at the handle, flinging the door wide. Grasping thick handfuls of skirt, she did as he bid her and ran.

* * *

Author's Note: Your reviews are amazing, and the reason this story will continue. Thank you, dear readers for your encouragement and input.


	2. Chapter 2

Update 7/10/2016: Fixed some minor typos and sentence structure.

Author's Note: Wow, so I missed my one-week deadline. It wasn't the writing so much as the month of June. I get the feeling this will always be a busy month for us. End of school, dance recital, and a birthday party to plan.

So, about the story: I love me some swear-y Cedric, and so there is some coarse language in this chapter. :)

You terrify me -

Because you're a man, you're not a boy

You've got some power -

And I can't treat you like a toy

The road less -

Travelled by a little girl.

You disregard the mess -

While I try to control the world.

Don't leave me -

Stay here and frighten me

Don't leave me -

Come now, enlighten me

Give me all you got -

Give me your wallet and your watch

Give me your first born

Give me the rainbow and the-

So go on and challenge me

Take the reins and seat

Watch me squirm, Baby

But you are just what I need

\- Fair Game, Sia

* * *

Spelled: Chapter 2

Cedric threaded his fingers through his hair, palming his temples, and pressed, as if he could crush the very thoughts from his mind.

Truth spells were a bitch.

Not only did they insist on making you tell the truth, but long after the effects wore off you were plagued by memories, rehashing over and over what had been revealed. What you had done.

Merlin's saggy balls, he'd just finger fucked the princess of Enchancia.

And, he offered to go down on her, among other things. He wondered if he should just commit suicide now to save himself a slow death from embarrassment.

Okay, so this was bad. But at least he hadn't given himself away completely. He hadn't confessed, for example, that along with fantasizing about pleasuring her willing body he also imagined sharing passionate declarations of love.

He hadn't let her know that he was hopelessly besotted by her and every moment in her company was a subtle torture.

He hadn't let on how truly pathetic he was, lusting for a girl, barley turned woman, half his age. And he had the audacity to believe he loved her. Poseidon's pecker, he was such a damned idiot.

He groaned, only half from the headache pounding behind his eyes. He hadn't been lying (because he couldn't) when he'd called her an "unblemished flower." He could well surmise the depths of her innocence. And he'd taken subversive delight in dangling forbidden truths before her wide-eyes.

Sofia was everything he wasn't: Light where he was dark, pure where he was corrupt, naive where he was jaded. He envied her that innocence, that child-like wonder she managed to retain even as she grew into womanhood. He envied and resented her for it. But even while he took exception to her naiveté, he never sought to destroy it.

He seemed destined to taint whatever he touched, whether it be a bungled spell or a calamitous plan. When she was a child it had been easy to disregard her sunny platitudes, until she directed her unfailing optimism onto his paltry sorcery skills. Then he had discovered that he was capable of much more than he ever dared dream. But in true Cedric-style even her fortifying support was eventually corrupted. The banal assurances of a child had grown into the affectionate support of a woman, and the effect was telling. The warm glow of happiness he used to feel at achieving the modest standards of a child's wonder paled in comparison to the superlative pride he felt impressing her woman's heart.

She had suitors plenty. Boyish nobles in their prime, prepared to offer her both wealth and title. Not to mention their tireless bodies. Young swells who didn't possess a single grey hair on their heads, whose bones didn't ache after a long trying day, and who needn't squint to read by dim candlelight. By comparison Cedric felt a million years old instead of a modest thirty-seven. A relic relegated to a dusty corner of her shining, socialite life. Of course he would fall in love with someone so completely beyond his station, so staggeringly out of his league that the idea of her returning his affection was utterly laughably. He had very little to offer except the experience that comes with age and a lurid imagination.

As such, he'd kept his improper desires hidden away, safely locked inside until her dabbling had set it all free.

Thank the listening gods that he'd managed to summon the will to resist before luring her straight into his bed. She'd been so inebriated from her first blush of pleasure that she probably wouldn't have uttered a single word in protest. He could have done anything to her.

The thought made him shiver, and not entirely from remorse.

He hadn't been lying (because he couldn't) when he confessed that he hadn't done anything that he hadn't dreamt of doing before. He had over a decade of tenure at his job, a reticence to socialize, no hobbies beyond reading and potion tinkering, and hours of solitude to kill which he often used to imagine his apprentice in a variety of compromising positions; Almost all of them involved very little clothing, her flushed panting face, and his unbridled dominion over her person.

But he'd never intended her to know any of that.

This little scheme hatched by the princesses had dire consequences for him. The pedagogue part of him seethed against his student for flaunting the very rules of his teachings and using magic to coerce another. It wasn't anything that he wasn't above doing himself, but he thought he'd at least taught her better. And really, he didn't give a rat's ass about whoever the spell was originally intended and only lamented her lack in judgment due to its direct effects on his person.

He'd been so proud of himself, too. For about a year now he'd harbored indecent feelings towards his ward, tempted to lure her into a trap of sensual seduction. But he'd resisted. It would be so easy, too. She was ripe for the plucking, combined with a rare naiveté that afforded him her unadulterated trust, something no one should be foolish enough to give him.

Yes, he'd abandoned his pursuit of the Amulet years ago. He no longer wished to rule a kingdom, but that didn't make him good by any measure. Altruistic wasn't in his vocabulary.

But, under the sway of the spell, her amulet hadn't crossed his mind. Well, except to remind himself to keep his damn mouth shut about any previous failed attempts to steal it. She was naive, not stupid. If he confessed to coveting the powerful magical artifact, she wasn't above hexing his bits off. He'd taught her that too, how to walk they grey line between good and bad when it came to one's enemies. And she'd had many over the years that came for her necklace. But she never suspected he was one of them.

Anyway, the amulet hadn't been his focus while under the spell that compelled him to express his true nature. No, he'd opted to seduce her instead.

He moved his fingers to rub his temples, hoping to lessen his headache.

Finger that had so recently stroked Sofia to the heights of what sounded like a truly shattering orgasm.

He gritted his teeth, making his head pounded harder, but he ignored the pain. How could he have let this happen?

When he'd come upon her, finding her lurking in an alcove of the ballroom, he knew she was up to something, but hadn't suspected he'd unintentionally become the victim of her ill-placed scheme. He should have recognized the symptoms of magical interference on his thoughts and reasoning, but being in her presence always seemed to muddle his brain. He often went out of his way to seek out her company just to experience the subtle high he felt being the center of her attention, if only for a moment or two.

Caught in her web, he'd been too wrapped up in the notion that she _needed_ him. When she said she was feeling ill he was only too willing to offer his assistance. When she'd slipped her arm into the crook of his elbow like he was a proper gentleman, the gesture effected him more than he cared to admit. He should have had an inkling something was amiss when he casually insulted some Duchess or other, just before he began sprinkling his comments with subtle innuendo, something he was careful to never do in Sofia's presence lest he give himself away. By the time they'd reached his workshop he was full under the spell's influence and it had felt _good_.

When she started rifling through his volume of Magical Remedies for the Remedial Reader, a book he wasn't sure why he kept as it was utterly useless, his reasoning found no flaw in giving into the desire to press his body up against hers, trapping her with his arms.

And how she responded ...

She hadn't pulled away from him, as he suspected she would. She was plainly surprised by his bold gestures, wrapping her fully into his arms under the guise of searching the spell book. By the time she confessed that he was under the influence of a spell, he was too intoxicated by her nearness, her acquiescence to his embrace, to care. From the fire lit inside his belly, he'd assumed (incorrectly) that he'd been altered by some sort of lust spell, maybe even a love spell. For some reason, instead of being alarmed, he found the whole situation amusing.

And it may have remained amusing, if he hadn't detailed out - _explicitly_ \- how he fantasized about luring her up to his room and striping off her clothing. It proved an intoxicating rush of power, discovering her curiosity on the very subject. She knew he was compromised, in an altered state, and he assumed she would never take advantage of such an underhanded occurrence.

He'd been so wrong.

Almost as potent as the spell were her blushing inquiries. When she'd asked what he would do to her once she was excited, once she was _wet_ for him, he thought he may have gone straight through mentally compromised into full-blown hallucinations. His desire for her, combined with her trusting acceptance finally set off alarm bells in his addled brain. He tried (rather unsuccessfully) to push her away, physically and verbally.

Unfortunately his well-intentioned attempt to put a stop to the farce, where she would actually consider thinking on him in any capacity beyond servant and mentor, hadn't taken the turn he expected. Truth could be a potent temptation, especially for a duplicitous liar such as himself. He spent much of his days pretending obsequious devotion to his patron king. A servant surrounded by royals, he was almost never free to speak his mind. He had better luck with Sofia, showing more of his true nature to her than anyone else, but even there he had to be careful.

His bitterness at his position in life manifested specifically in mocking insults against her innocence. While the idea that she might allow (he wouldn't go so far as to say invite) his advances filled him with a pleased euphoria, but it also induced a barely restrained anger. Who was she to tempt him when he had everything to lose, and she nothing? That she was allowing, some would say encouraging, his compromised caresses, letting him blather on about fondling her for his pleasure, knowing full well he could never act on such desires, rose a galling bitterness inside him.

So he'd attempted to overwhelm her; mocking her naive complacency in his arms when she knew not what she was inviting. Her trust in his character was so total, so unfailing that it both shamed and angered him. If she could believe him, then she could fall for any scoundrel with far less morals. What would she do then? If she batted those doe eyes at the wrong wolf in sheep's clothing? So he'd laid the unvarnished truth at her feet, forcing her to see down the path where such conversations (sequestered in total privacy, with an unscrupulous man) usually lead. He expected her to leave in an offended huff.

He should have known better.

That she was tempted by his suggestive talk proved a potent aphrodisiac.

Still he never suspected that she would take him up on the offer; That she'd answer his crude questions about touching herself; That she'd be so intrigued by his offer to be the first to pleasure her. It had been just too tempting to challenge her wide-eyed innocence. If she was the sheep than he was definitely the wolf salivating for that first taste. Something about her shy confession, that she was literally untouched by another brought out all the masculine vanity, all the societal double standards he normally abhorred, to the fore of his mind, coalescing in a potent rush of heat to his groin.

And it was no small matter than he wanted her to say yes for reasons that had less to do with his groin and more to do with his heart.

So he'd pressed his luck, taking shameless advantage of her momentary breach of judgment. Gathering her skirts, he dared to uncover her bare thighs and satin drawers. And _she'd just_ _let him_. He'd stared her directly in the eye, challenging her, daring her to break and run.

Those ridiculous lavender roses sewn into her stockings had nearly been his undoing. They looked so innocently out of place against the carnal allure of her bare thighs framed in lace.

And then ...

Oh, then ...

The way she'd parted her legs, allowing him to caress her. The needy roll of her hips encouraging his touch. She couldn't look at him, her face flushed with embarrassment, so he'd turned her towards him, needing to know, needing to see that she wanted his touch as badly as he wished to bestow it upon her. She'd stared, all luminous blue eyes and blush pink lips, as he slipped inside her royal drawers, caressing the satiny curls he'd only felt in his dreams. When she parted her lips, silently begging for the kiss he longed to impart upon her, it was his turn to turn away.

 _"What do you think about?"_ _He whispered._

 _"W-what?"_

 _"When you touch yourself?"_

 _"When I ..." Her hips rolled forward, seeking his touch._

He pressed his hands tighter against his skull. He didn't want to remember.

 _"I ..." He drew her ear between his lips, teasing her._

He growled in frustration, knowing it useless to fight the stirring heat beneath his trousers.

 _"I ..." His fingertips brushed between her thighs, feeling the damp heat pooled there._

He never suspected her of such duplicity, such manipulation.

 _"You."_

Even when he admonished her lies, he wanted to believe they were true. That she thought of him while she caresses and coaxed herself over the edge of pleasure, crying out imagining it was his touch instead of her own that stroked her to the heights of ecstasy, the very idea filled him with haunting longing and primal lust. That she spoke the truth was more than he'd even dared to dream. So he refused to believe, refused to allow himself to hope.

But when he'd touched her ...

He groaned aloud, giving up the useless fight to stop the flood of memories.

When he finally touched her, she'd been fairly dripping with want. Her eager hips had rolled forward to meet him, and the sounds she made were nearly his undoing. When she pressed soft kisses all along his throat he had to bite his tongue to keep from babbling out how much he loved her, how much he'd dreamed about her gentle caresses. Her tenderness was an absolution, a balm to his soul. He'd dreamed almost as much of obtaining the redemption that lay in her arms as he did pleasuring her untried body. Because if someone like Sofia, someone so pure of heart could love someone like him ...

That was the real fantasy, more so than any erotic vision. The idea that she could truly love him was the most outlandish dream of all.

That's why he wouldn't kiss her.

But when she'd begged, when he could no longer refuse that sweet torment, more potent than the promise of heaven cupped beneath his palm, stroked to ecstasy by his touch. He could deny himself, but he couldn't resist her broken plea.

So he'd surged against her, kissing her with all the dark ferocity that lay trapped inside. He'd plundered her willing mouth the way her wished to ravish her innocent body. He wasn't lying (because he couldn't) when he claimed virgins to be tedious. Not that he went around deflowering young maidens on the regular, but he knew enough to know that a certain amount or care and restraint was necessary. He didn't want her tears, her cringing moans of pain, he wanted her cries to be only of pleasure.

And he'd brought her to that sweet brink of ecstasy. He'd stroked her quivering heat until it pooled at his fingertips, welcoming his touch with unabashed generosity. She might not know what to say or do, but her body needed no training for this dark dance as old as time. She accepted every stroke, every crude caress with beatific grace, absorbing pleasure as readily as the air she breathed, like a birthright. When she'd cried out, she'd clung to him like the savior keeping her from tumbling into the dark abyss, rather than the villain that had thrust her into it. It became too much to bear, too real. He snatched his defiling, damning touch away, but she'd embraced him just the same. Princess Sofia, patron saint of lost souls and misfits, embraced the very man that would gladly lead her down the road to both their ruin.

He didn't dare touch her, even to right her errant garments. It was all he could do to hold himself still, the image of those silk stocking clad thighs straddling his lap burning through his brain like a fever. The same hands that wished to sooth her trembling nerves also longed to free the lacings of her gown. The lips that sought to caress her own in a tender endearment, would eagerly drink in her cries. His heart, which felt fit to burst at having her in his arms, was already racing wildly imagining her body beneath him.

When she'd gazed up at him, her trust for him written in her embrace, her heavy-lidded gaze, he could scarcely breath. And when he watched as a tear fell, leaving a glistening trail in its wake, he stopped breathing all together. Sofia had been many things over the years: a precocious child, an obstinate youth, a presumptuous teenager, and a sophisticated young woman. In all her incarnations she retained at the heart of her nature her kind, compassionate spirit, tempered by a thread of resolute confidence. Even as a child she had always been wholly and completely herself, never willing to compromise her convictions. He'd seen her fight and triumph. He'd seen her doubt and overcome. He's witnessed her victory in the face of overwhelming odds. And not once - not once - had he ever, ever seen her cry.

Until now.

Her tears had stopped him. Her. Fucking. Tears. Cutting through the lustful haze of his spell-addled brain like the tempered edge of a blade. But the reprieve was short-lived. When she wavered, tempting the fates that sought to deliver her from destruction, he railed against her persistent spirit. Why couldn't the girl ever listen? Why did she have to be so fucking precocious? So damned stupid? So unrelentingly brave?

In that dark moment he'd craved to see her cowering before a dark, unrelenting force that threatened to swallow her and her light whole. That syrupy sweet innocent was part of her strength, but also the key to her undoing. Dropping his voice into a silky purr he didn't know he could produce, he lured her into his silken trap, subtly excited by her dilated pupils and rapid breathing.

She was tempted, actually considering, no matter how abstractly, his offer to _ruin her completely_. And what a ruin he could make it. For a moment he entertained the fantasy. He'd pinion her to his bed, and not let up until she begged for his mercy.

The dark turn of his thoughts began to alarm even him as he circled her like a predator stalking a wounded doe.

So he'd gripped her hard, pressing her yielding body against all the hard panes of his own.

 _"Run, little girl, before I eat you up."_

And she ran.

He should feel so _proud_ of himself. He, a grown man, had succeeded in making a teenage girl cry and then run away from the monster that had frightened her.

What she didn't know, would never know, was how he'd trembled with the need to chase after her. How long after he'd cured himself of that damnable spell, he fought with himself not to go to her room and beg her forgiveness. And how he retained an insane hope that she would still allow him to inhabit some small corner of her life, no matter how slight.

How could he explain the twisted mesh of envy and resentment he felt towards her, shot through with a golden thread of love? How could he explain it to her, when he didn't fully understand himself?

He couldn't. And so he wouldn't try.

He tried to tell himself that despite what he'd said and done, she'd been at fault. She chose to cast the spell. She chose to keep the information secret until it was too late. She had allowed his inappropriate confessions. And she had welcomed his defiling touch.

The thought brought cold comfort. The best he could hope for was that the threat of mutually assured destruction would keep her silent on what had transpired between them. His job might remain safe, but the same could not be said for the tattered shreds of his heart. She knew a little what he felt, seeing the darkest side of his twisted preoccupation with her. He didn't dare show her the rest, how he craved her love as well as her body. Physical lust could be forgiven, he was only human after all and she was an incomparably beautiful young woman, but that he coveted her heart was the most foolish and shameful desire of all. If she knew, her rejection would crush him. Pathetic, but true. He couldn't risk it, so on every level: as student and teacher, as mentor and ward, as friends, they were utterly done.

* * *

When Sofia rose from her bed the next morning, her eyes were dry. Despite her vibrating nerves and overwrought body the night before, except for those two treacherous tears, she hadn't cried at all. She had never been much a cryer. Every since the day she had witnessed her mother's broken hearted weeping for her lost husband, Sofia's father, she'd believed crying was something reserved for true grief and not at all productive for the resolution of small matters. She'd never understood Amber's casual weaponization of her tears. Amber used them like collateral to get what she wanted. Sofia preferred more direct methods to underhanded subterfuge.

While she hadn't spent the long hours before dawn crying, she hadn't spent them asleep either. Awake and too keyed up from her encounter with the real Mister Cedric, she couldn't do anything as benign as sleep. She's spend the wee hours of the morning replaying their "conversation".

She still couldn't believe she'd fled from him like some brainless ninny.

 _"Run, little girl, before I eat you up."_

She shivered, drawing the covers tight against her chest at the memory. Her eyes closed, trying to recapture the exact tenor of his voice, the texture of his touch.

It was every fantasy she'd imagined, and then some. What her imagination had lacked in substance, she made up for in sentiment, longing for Cedric to recognize that she was grown; no longer a child to be patted on the head and placated with a kind word. She was a woman with desires and longings of her own. But he'd never shown any interest in reciprocating her (so she'd thought) misplaced attraction to him.

Between the dark hours of night and the feathery light of dawn, as she lay in bed remembering, and yes, attempting to replicate the explosive quality of his touch, something had been set free inside her. Something that couldn't be caged again.

She wanted him, had wanted him before this, but now it was concrete and tangible. He'd laid his hands on her and she longed for him to do so again. He was no longer a fantasy, a phantom lover bound by her limited education and lack of imagination. He was real and warm and _willing_. No longer her prickly, untouchable magic teacher, but a man who desired her. A man who had fantasized about pleasuring her. A man who had touched her, stroking her yearning body to a shuttering climax.

But her reverie abruptly cut short. Just because he wanted her didn't mean he would act on it again. It had taken a spell to reveal his true feelings.

A spell and her consent. Perhaps if she left him know that she was willing ...

That traitorous voice rose, whispering in her ear: _She shouldn't ..._

She was tired of shouldn'ts. Tired of couldn'ts and don'ts and of-course-nots. She'd always been such a good girl. Always followed the rules and where did it leave her? Pining for the one man she could not have. And now she knew that he wanted her too.

Living such a blessed life, she rarely fretted over what she could not have, choosing to focus on the positive. She fretted now. She didn't just want Cedric's body, his touch, his kiss, she wanted so much more. For him to return all she felt for him.

But that was asking too much. She remembered his mocking words, his suggestive leer. Even under a truth spell he never hinted that he felt ... That he could ...

He'd touched her, pleasured her, and that was more than she should have allowed, more than she should have wanted. She'd have to sustain herself with the memory of a few stolen moments and not go asking for more.

Rising from bed, she brushed the tangles from her hair before getting dressed for the day. She had a magic lesson after breakfast. Was _supposed_ to have a lesson, but she was not at all certain she should attempt to make their standing appointment.

Pulling her apprentice attire over her head, she paused before the long mirror, appraising her casual appearance with fresh eyes. Sorcery work usual included caustic ingredients and dirty cauldrons, so she'd had a dress fashioned of rough homespun wool. Unadorned by ribbons or lace, it was a deep shade of plum that hid any stains or dust. Often needing to climb ladders, or kneel in the dirt, it skimmed her body without the intervening layers of stays or petticoats. She always thought the dress rather practical, and rarely thought on the provocative implication that it didn't allow for proper undergarments.

 _Rarely thought_ , because she wasn't completely without conscience about her unorthodox manner of dress, she had just always believed Mister Cedric hadn't taken any notice. Now she turned this way and that, looking from every angle, trying to surmise what he saw when he looked at her. Because now, with opened eyes, she was sure he had thought on it.

The dress laced down the back, drawing the bodice tight against her small waist and high breasts. Only her shift, a mere gossamer slip, more suggestion than functional garment, lay between the nubby wool and her unbound body. And unless it was a cool winter day that she expected to be out collecting herbs, she always eschewed stockings, wearing only a worn pair of brown leather slippers and her amulet to complete the outfit.

Her body tingled, imagining Cedric stealing covetous glances when she wasn't looking. Was this the outfit he imagined stripping from her body, making her tremble for his touch? She owned dozens of embellished gowns of quality, but their gaudy beauty suddenly paled in comparison to the earthy sensuality of this well-worn dress. It's only embellishments were her loose auburn hair, and the Amulet of Avalor that drew the observer's eye to the swell of her breasts. She could just see the subtle outline of her pebbled nipples and her eyes widened when she realized how often Cedric must have enjoyed the same sight. His tower was rather drafty.

What tempted him wasn't yards of ribbon or flounces of lace. Her own body, subtly accentuated by the cut and cling of the rough fabric, had been all the temptation needed.

Cedric wanted her.

That should be obvious, given their last conversation, but the realization still held the power to make her feel weak in the knees.

She'd never thought, never hoped, that he saw her as anything than an annoying girl. She longed for him to recognize the woman she'd grown into, trying desperately to impress him with feats of magic and her devotion to his craft. While sparing with his praise, unlike his father he did give it when it was due. She lived for those little thrills when he would bestow a word of praise, a subtle look of pride lighting his eyes. He never went so far as to smile, but she still delighted to know she caused him pleasure.

Now the thought of causing him pleasure took on an entirely new meaning.

Her face flamed, even as a rush of heat squeezed her thighs together. But swiftly on its heels followed a stab of conscience. She'd known, even as she allowed it to go on, that once free from the truth spell Cedric would be furious with her. Her curiosity may very well have cost her his companionship entirely.

She ran her hands nervously over the panes of her waist, pressing out a few wrinkles in the fabric. She knew what she had to do. She'd have to swallow her pride and apologize. It was his prerogative to bar her from his private corner of the world, even if it would break her heart for him to do so. But she owed him such a choice. This time she wouldn't runaway or hide.

* * *

Sofia stood in the dark hall, trembling. She quelled, feeling like an eight year old girl again standing beneath the gaze of those leering gargoyles. Instead of appearing frightening, they seemed to mock her, their jeering lips saying, "We know what you did."

She took a deep breath to fortify her nerves before knocking lightly. When Cedric threw open the door her mouth was already open, a contrite, rehearsed apology ready to tumble from her lips.

He cut her off.

"Your lessons have been cancelled," he growled, with quite more potency than usual, "Indefinitely."

And with that he slammed the door in her shocked face.

* * *

Sofia went back to her room in a daze.

So that was it. She'd gambled and lost. Even knowing she couldn't change the past, she replayed the previous evening, only this time she did the right thing, confessing at once and freeing him from the truth spell. Then they could have gone on as they always had. Perhaps he would have told her parents and she and Amber would have received some punishment, been unable to attend a ball or two, but that would have been it. And perhaps Mister Cedric would have been disappointed in her, but she'd gladly endure his disapproving scowl compared to her new reality, where she didn't get to see him at all.

"Oh, I didn't expect to see you, Princess."

Sofia turned, drawn out of her sulking by Violet's chipper voice.

"Begging your pardon," the maid was saying. "I came to tidy up while you were away at your lesson. I can come back if-"

"No," Sofia waved her words away. "My magic lesson has been cancelled." _Indefinitely_ , she thought, but couldn't bring herself to say it out loud.

"Will you be needing help dressing for the day?"

Sofia opened her mouth to answer automatically, but shut it again, considering.

 _" -you still believe the world is sunshine and flowers. You believe that every servant is your friend, not that they are paid to do your bidding. You're well-liked, don't doubt that, but they will tell you anything you want to hear."_

That's what Cedric had told her in a vicious moment of truth, after she claimed to not know anyone who lied to her.

"Violet, what do you think of this dress?"

The maid was silent a beat too long and Sofia stole a peak at the older woman. As her personal maid Violet had been dressing her since Sofia was eight. The woman took exceptional pride in her charge's appearance, often suggesting dresses Sofia herself felt were too gaudy, but she wore them because she hated to disappoint the woman who was almost a second mother to her.

"It's a lovely color on you, Miss."

Sofia thought about the answer. Nice. Bland. Honest.

"But ...," Sofia supplied, knowing the woman was thinking much more than she was saying.

"It's a fine dress for a villager, but if I may be so bold, it's hardly befitting a princess."

Sofia frowned, despite herself. She'd been wearing this dress for nearly a year and Violet had never made a single mention of her disapproval. Though, now that she thought on it, a time or two Sofia had been forced to track her apprentice dress down after it went missing, "lost" in the laundry. She remembered because on those occasions she'd been late for her magic lessons, which made Mister Cedric grumpy and irritable for the rest of the day. At the time she'd been focused on his displeasure with her, not the curious occurrence of her missing dress.

"You've tried to get rid of it a few times, haven't you?" She didn't sound upset, just now coming to the realization.

Violet's mouth dropped open and the older woman's cheeks flushed with color. "I ... It wouldn't be my place to do such a thing, Princess."

 _Maybe not_ , Sofia thought, knowing she was correct in her accusation _, but that didn't stop you_.

 _"What servant wants to be the one who angered the rulers of the realm? There's a saying, Princess, the nail that sticks out gets the hammer."_

He was right, she realized. An absurd flare of betrayal washed over her. How many people in her life lied to her?

"I just meant, your Grace, it's a fine dress for sorcery work, but not suitable for the day-to-day responsibilities of a princess." Violet appeared pleased with her explanation, and Sofia realized how adept the woman was at offering half-truths. Sprinkling her opinions with enough truth to have the ring of honesty to them without appearing offensive.

"Yes, of course," Sofia mumbled, her thoughts already turning elsewhere.

Half-truths. Truth inside lies, both hiding in plain sight. The curious case of her dress had taken on a deeper meaning.

 _"They'll tell you anything you want to hear."_

That wasn't strictly true. Violet had never uttered a word of protest until pushed to share her opinion, and then she'd only skirted around the subject, tactfully offering answers that would appease her mistress. Violet was being honest with her, completely, just from a certain point of view.

 _-a certain point of view._

"Shall we be getting you dressed for the day then, Miss?"

Sofia blinked, coming back to herself. "No," she said, taking the maid by surprise. "There's no need. I need to go to the library. I'll most likely be getting dusty anyway."

"Very well," Violet muttered in obvious confusion as the princess bid her a hasty good bye and disappeared out the door.

* * *

Sofia squared her shoulders. This time when the pair of gargoyles leered down at her she poked her tongue out in a childish act of retaliation. She wasn't about to be cowed by a pair of stone statues, or their prickly master.

She pounded on the door, and when it opened this time, she didn't give him the opportunity to shut it in her face. She brushed past him, invading his private sanctuary.

He remained where he stood, the open door a blatant invitation for her to leave. "I believe I said your lessons were cancelled."

She turned, crossing her arms stubbornly over her chest. "I'm not here for a lesson. In magic at least."

She recognized the flicker of intrigue cross his face, gone in an instant. "And what is it that you came here for, Princess?"

Her chin tilted up in petulant defiance. "I came to hear the truth."

"The truth?" He scoffed. "I assumed you would have had your fill of that last night."

Her cheeks colored at the implication. Her eyes flickered involuntarily to his hands, clenched into fists by his sides. He was indeed furious, as she suspected he would be, but she'd resolved herself of that fact before she came.

"Why did you tell me to run last night?"

The question caught him off guard, not expecting her to be so forthwith. He pasted a sneering expression onto his face. "I should think that would be obvious."

"Apparently not," she favored him with a level look, "As I'm asking now."

He looked away from her, out the open door. There was a long pause before he answered. "I will give you one warning, Sofia. Do not make me have this conversation with you. You will not like the results."

She looked at his back, judging his rigid posture. Perhaps he was right and she wouldn't like what she heard, but she had to know. "Why did you tell me to run?"

He took a deep breath of air, letting it out in a long sigh as if seeking patience. His hands clenched, then loosened as she watched his shoulders roll back. He turned to her. "Fine," the word bit off through his teeth. "You probably believe I told you to run out of some misplaced care for your feelings. Some girlish notion of chivalry. Forget all that."

She wilted a little under his sneering anger, unwilling to admit how closely his aim landed, nor how deeply it stung. She gritted her teeth, holding her chin high.

"I told you quite plainly that virgins were tedious," he continued. "Do you know why? Because they're all clumsy innocence and blubbering tears. The moment I saw you crying, I decided I was done with you. Bored. You were an interesting diversion that had lost its appeal. I told you to get out, but you didn't listen. So I decided a more forceful method of persuasion was in order."

Sofia's chin quivered despite herself. He sounded so callous, so heartless. Rampant gossip and whispered rumors gave her a truncated education in sexuality, but one thing was constant and clear: men were only out for one thing. She'd heard it a hundred times and always found the sources dubious at best. Several of her female peers were just as promiscuous, some more so, than their male counterparts. But now it gave her cause to question her resolve. Did Cedric truly feel nothing for her beyond lust for her body? And apparently not much at that, as he claimed to be bored with her already.

"I don't believe you." She felt a bit of pride that her voice remained steady.

"It doesn't matter what you _choose_ to believe."

"I don't choose to believe it. You're lying."

"Do you really think so?" He cocked his right brow. "Or do you only want me to be?"

She chewed her lip in thought, fighting against her encroaching confusion. She did want to believe he was lying, but was he? For a moment she wished to stamp her foot in frustration. She was tired of being twisted around by his logic, and by his lies. She was tired of being treated like a child who couldn't handle the truth. If he refused to acknowledge her as an equal, then it was time for her to demand it of him. It was time for her to grow up. It was time to open her eyes. It was time to start asking for the things she wanted. And the truth wasn't the only thing she'd come for.

It was time to stop being the good girl everyone expected her to be.

She turned away, making him think she was collecting her emotions. In reality, she hid the movement of her hand drawing her wand.

She had to know.

She turned back towards him, a beguiling pout drawing up her lips. He looked at her face, as she expected, and she used the moment to aim. "I am sorry about this," she said, making his face contort in confusion. She raised her wand. "Loquimini Veritatem."

He stared at her in open shock, too stunned to avoid the silver bolt of magic that pierced his heart.

She'd spelled him. Again.

* * *

Author's Note: "Loquimini veritatem" means "speak truth" in Latin. Well, at least according to Google translator it does.


	3. Chapter 3

Update 7/10/2016: Fixed some typos, minor sentence structure changes.

Author's Note: Rated M for sexiness and dirty talk ;)

To Reader, one of my guest reviewers: Thank you for the suggestion. I do have a tendency to write set ups for sex and not much else ;) But you're in luck. I actually plan to write a sequel to this story which will be about Cedric and Sofia in a secret relationship and all that goes with it.

The world revolves I let it go  
We build our church above this street  
We practice love between these sheets  
The candy sweetness scent of you  
It bathes my skin I'm stained by you  
And all I have to do is hold you  
There's a racing in my heart  
I am barely touching you

Turn the lights down low  
Take it off  
Let me show  
My love for you  
Insatiable  
Turn me on  
Never stop  
Wanna taste every drop  
My love for you  
Insatiable

\- Insatiable, Darren Hayes

So go on and shake me

Shake until I give it up

When I'm in doubt, Baby

I know that we could make some love

-Fair Game, Sia

* * *

Spelled: Chapter 3

Cedric's hand flew to his chest, as though he could somehow stop the bolt of magic that had already disappeared, leaving no evidence of its existence except for a subtle tingle along his skin. His head whipped up to scowl at her. She had the decency to look ashamed, but that didn't change the fact that now she had knowingly put him under a truth spell.

"Move," he barked.

Her forehead creased in confusion for a moment, before she glanced back and realized his wand was behind her on his work table. He meant to cure himself, but she couldn't let him do that just yet. She leveled her wand at him, taking a defensive posture. Her heart hammered in her chest, beating out a rhythm that shouted: _What are you doing? Whatareyoudoing?_ But she'd come this far and it was too late to turn back.

She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze squarely. "No."

"Sofia," his voice took on a low, warning tone that was nearly a growl. She shivered, and not from fear.

 _Yes_ , that other, new voice inside her whispered, _this is what I wanted. What I came for._

She watched a shutter run through him as the spell took hold. Groping blindly behind her, she gasped his wand before shutting it away in a drawer.

He rolled his eyes. "Do you really think that will stop me?"

"No," her voice shook just a little. "But you will have to get past me to get it and I don't intend to make it easy on you."

He sized her up, taking a measured sweep of her person from head to toe and back again. It was less an appraisal of her form and more a calculation of her physical size in comparison to his own. He could easily overpower her, but that would involve touching her, something he wasn't keen to do at the moment. If he touched her, he might not stop.

He felt the spell sinking deeper into his consciousness, smothering his good sense. He was already losing the will to fight, to end the pleasant buzz that whispered suggestions inside his head, none of them proper, some possibly illegal. She was here, alone with him, placing him under the same spell that lead to him fondling her last time.

"Whatever your intention, I must say this is not one of your brighter ideas," he told her honestly.

She looked at him curiously, weighing his state of mind. Outwardly she appeared steady, but inside her nerves were in an uproar. This wasn't what she intended when she decided to pursue the option of engaging Cedric in an illicit proposition. During her foray to the library, she'd spent the afternoon shifting through dusty stacks to find the spell book she'd hidden there. After choosing the Loquimini Veritatem spell for Hugo, she'd read enough to know that it wouldn't leave any permanent harm and would fulfill Amber's requirements for public humiliation. Once she'd memorized the spell, she'd hidden the book deep towards the back of the library, as if to hide away her own shame for indulging Amber's petty plan for revenge.

But now that the spell had direct and dire significance on her own life, she'd sought out the spell book to examine every word and nuance about the effects. While flipping through the pages of the crumbling tome, she'd realized why the curious case of the mercurial Mister Cedric entranced her so, besides the obvious. She had believed the truth to be a thing concrete and objective. Something was either true or untrue, honest or a lie. Black or white. Cedric's honesty had proved far more slippery than she was used to.

All her life Sofia had been told what a _good_ girl she was. She'd been pampered and praised, held up as an example for others to emulate. She'd also been chastised and admonished when she dared to step one toe off her pedestal. And ever the obedient daughter and princess, she'd contritely climbed back up where others had placed her and sit, waiting patiently to be told what to do, what was proper.

She was tired of waiting. Tired of waiting for the approval of others. Tired of waiting for Cedric to recognize her for the woman she had become.

The "real" Cedric hadn't admonished her for casting spells on unknowing princes. He hadn't told her no. Instead he'd tempted her, dared her to do devious, naughty things for her own pleasure. Under the truth spell he'd been so different from his usual demeanor. She'd always cared for him, despite his prickly countenance that drove others away. She longed to break through his walls, knowing he erected a barrier between himself and others for protection. He let her get closer to him than most, but still kept her at a distance. To get another peek inside, to see the man behind the sorcerer façade was just too tempting.

She knew him capable of great feats of magic. Anything he set his mind to, she never doubted he could accomplish. But right now she didn't want the sorcerer. She wanted the man, flawed and beautiful as he was.

They told her, they being a collective of parents, teachers, assorted guardians and guides, that princesses are modest. Princesses are chaste. They wait patiently for their prince to come. And princesses don't ... fill in the blank, she'd heard them all. Princesses don't tease. They don't tempt. And they certainly don't enjoy pre-marital, unattached sex. (Okay, so no one had actually told her that one, but she could easily surmise.) But Sofia had never been a model princess. She did things other princesses did not do. Did things other princesses did not dare. Her hand shook where it grasped her wand, but she was determined to see this through.

"Did it ever occur to you that I'm quite adept at twisting the truth around into whatever I want it to be?" Cedric said, drawing her back into the moment at hand.

She chewed her lip, doubt creeping up on her.

"You really didn't think this through, did you?" he sneered, feeling a mingled distain and pity. Disdain because he thought she knew better than to take on an adversary without proper preparation, and pity because his heart went out at the uncertain look in her eyes.

She lowered her wand. "Not really," she admitted. "I didn't really have much of a plan."

He snorted. "So what, pray tell, is it you hope to accomplish?"

She seemed to recover some of her confidence. "I told you, I want to truth. After last night, I'm not even sure I know who you are, Cedric."

"Yes, I suppose we can certainly drop the Mister," he muttered, more to himself.

"What?" She strained to hear him.

"You didn't call me _Mister_ Cedric," he answered, the response somewhat automatic and forced out of him.

She bite her lip, and he stared at her mouth. She felt a flicker of heat in her belly at the way his eyes darkened. "Do you like when I call you by name?"

"Yes." The answer was pulled from him before he could stop it. He scowled, frustrated by his lack of concentration. Anything could be the truth if you believed it. He had to get her out of here quickly, before he lost the desire for her to leave. "It doesn't matter what you call me. Just get to why you're here so you can go away."

Sofia frowned. They had been moving in a good direction, before he turned irritable. "Alright, _Cedric_ ," she watched him shiver. He did like it when she called him by name. "Why did you tell me to run last night?"

"I believe I already answered that question."

For a moment Sofia's conviction wavered, but then she thought on it. True, he had already answered the question. "But were you telling the truth? Do you find me boring and tedious?"

He didn't answer right away. She realized giving him time to think was a bad thing. "Answer me."

"No," he said at once.

"So you don't find me boring or tedious?" She asked, unsure which question he'd answered. She felt she was getting the hang of the spell, adding, "Answer."

"I find you anything but," he gritted through his teeth.

"I was right, you did lie," she said more to herself. "But you still haven't answered the question. Why did you tell me to run? And, why did you lie about it?"

"Because I'm trying to protect you."

Sofia's face softened. She had suspected as much, hoped as much. While reviewing the events of the previous night, that moment at the end stood out in her mind, because it didn't seem to fit. He'd teased her, tempted her, even taunted her, but the moment that he'd flung her from him, bidding her to run from him, had felt significant. "I thought so," she murmured, "But I don't need protection, Cedric. Not from you."

The soft, earnest look on her face made something inside him _ache_. The damning promise of her absolution, her love, written plain on her face, taunted him. Disdainful anger flooded in, building a wall around his heart.

He slammed the door shut, making her jump. Then he turned on her, advancing until she was backed against the table with nowhere to go. The tip of her wand pressed directly into his chest, but he ignored it. "You don't know me, Girl."

"Perhaps not," she allowed, voice going breathless. "But I know enough of you to know you are a better person than you believe you are."

"Really?" His right eyebrow rose and she recognized the challenge. "And what makes you think so?"

Her pupils were blown wide but she managed to leveled him with her eyes. "When you told me to run you didn't wish to hurt me. You forced more truth upon me than I could handle, hoping to frighten me away."

"Better to inundate you with unwanted words than something else unwanted." Even as he said it, the potent heat of desire tightened in his groin.

Her eyes flickered from his dark gaze to his mouth. "Who said anything about being unwanted?"

Her tongue swept out to wet her lips and before he knew what he was doing he found himself leaning in. She tilted her chin up, but at the last moment he pulled away, flinging himself away from her. She made a sound that might have been frustration, but he needed to put distance between them.

He was sorely tempted to give in, to give her what she was unwittingly asking for. He didn't believe for a second she understood the full ramifications of her naive attempt at seduction. She was like a child with a new, shiny toy. She played with him, not understanding how easily he could break. She'd shatter him to pieces, and he was tempted to let her.

He turned on her. "You wanted the truth, Princess, so here it is. I am not a nice man. I'm not some tragically misunderstood hero from one of your fairy tales. I am a selfish, self-serving bastard fully capable of taking the virtue of a silly girl foolish enough to offer it. You think you want to play this game, but you fail to see how desperately outmatched you are. When it comes to duplicitous morals, believe me, I am the master."

"I don't believe that," she insisted.

He took a step towards her. "There you go again, believing the best in people where it doesn't exist."

She raised her chin, unwilling to quail before his taunts this time, "It exists. Good exists in us all, and most exceptionally in you."

He laughed, a low bitter sound. "Tell me again how the world is a wonderful place full of love and light." He took another meandering, menacing step. She refused to back away.

"The world is what we make of it. You are who you choose to be. You choose to be good."

"Do I?" He barked, his snarling face inches from her own. "And how do you know? You said yourself, I've been lying to you for years."

"Not lying," she canted her head up in challenge, "Just telling the truth from a certain point of view."

He tilted his head in mock consideration. "No, I'd saying lying is a fair description."

He was trying to distract her and she was determined not to let him. He wanted her, that she knew. She pasted a confident smirk on her face, "But you weren't lying last night when you told me how you fantasize about me."

The muscle of his jaw twitched and her smile widened.

She pressed her advantage, feeling a surprising satisfaction at having him at her mercy. If she asked him a direct question, it would seem he had to answer it. She had to be careful that he not sabotage her attempts to find the truth. She sauntered towards him, and he was the one to back away this time. "How you dream of taking me up to your bedroom and stripping off my clothing, piece by piece."

He glared at her, and she might have wilted beneath the heat of his anger if she didn't also see the banked fire of desire burning behind his eyes.

"Is this really a game you want to play, little girl?"

She pursed her lips, drawing his attention to her mouth. "I told you, I'm not a little girl."

"No," he conceded," But you are still woefully outmatched."

"Let's level the field then, shall we?"

She brought out her wand up, and Cedric tensed. He needn't have worried. She tapped her own head, uttering the truth spell again.

"What are you playing at?" He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Yesterday, you claimed not to believe me, when I ... at a particular moment. I thought it best if we were both compelled to tell the truth."

"You silly girl," he snarled, and Sofia could swear she heard a note of panic in his tone. " Loquimini Veritatem doesn't just force you to tell the truth-"

"It also suppresses the subject's ability to override their true wants and desires," she finished, reading the definition from memory. "I know. Did you honestly think I wouldn't have done my research? You taught me better than that."

Her attempt at flattery rolled off the waves of his ire without notice. "You think because you read a few words in some dusty old book that you know one bit about the true nature of desire?"

The venom in his words made her take a step back. She was starting to tingle all over and her thoughts began to blur. "I know what I want."

His eyes traveled down the length of her body before sweeping up again. "Do you? And what, pray tell, is it you want from me?"

"I want you to touch me again." Her eyes widened and she almost slapped her hands over her mouth. Yes, that was her desire and intention for coming here, but the force with which those words were compelled from her was startling.

Open surprise loosened his face, before he plastered on a look of cool indifference with effort. "I thought you wanted the truth. Now who's the liar?"

"I'd say we're even."

He watched her eyes glaze, going slightly unfocused. He knew the feeling, that she was sinking deeper into a false paradise, one that whispered to just let go. Just give into to your deepest desires, nothing bad will happen. For a truth spell, it was awfully deceptive. "This is ridiculous," he rumbled, because things were getting out of hand. "If you won't let me have my wand, then give me yours, so I can end this charade."

She tossed her wand on the table behind her. Her face took on a look of undisguised lust and he felt a dangerous heat building inside him to answer her own. Her gaze raking down his frame threatened to burn his lean body to cinders. Her eyes licked over him like blue flames.

For the first time he felt a fissure of fear like ice sliding down his spine. He thought he was in control, carefully treading the razor's edge of the spell until he could dissuade her from forcing the issue. Now he wasn't sure.

Sofia trembled, feeling a bit light headed. Spelling herself had been an impulse, a foolish offer of trust. He was so defensive that she thought if they were both compelled to be honest that might make then even. She was wrong, only just now realizing how right he'd been. She thought she knew what she was doing, thought she had control. She'd read every word about Loquimini Veritatem, and it sounded so innocuous. She blinked lazily, looking him up and down as if he were a sweet to be devoured rather than a person she was trying hold a conversation with. The edge of her desire had sharpened to an urge she couldn't deny.

He looked similarly effected and the knowledge of what he wanted to do to her imbued her with a heady combination of awe and power. "I came here because I want you," she confessed, seeing no reason not to.

His posture remained stiff, but the uneven gate of his breathing revealed how deeply she affected him.

Emboldened, she stepped forward until she was pressing up against him, shameless as a feline. "You wanted me to burn for your touch. I do." Her voice dropped, taking on a low, husky quality that made his heart race. "I am. I've waited far longer than you know for you to recognize that I'm not a little girl anymore."

He swallowed thickly, his hands clenched so hard they shook with the effort to not touch her. "Listen to me very carefully Sofia, you know not what you are asking of me."

"Yes I do," she insisted, because she honestly believed it. "I'm asking you to touch me, to love me."

He wondered briefly at her choice of words, assuming she lacked a more lurid vocabulary. She didn't mean it literally, he had to tell himself, but the effect was still potent. Her hands caressed his chest and shoulders.

 _Just give in_ , his spell-addled brain whispered. He knew it was dangerous, but his hands were already reaching for her, wrapping around her waist. She couldn't hide her gasp when the rigid evidence of his arousal pressed against her belly. The subtle, shocked widening of her eyes proved a powerful aphrodisiac.

Since she had to tell the truth, and really Sofia lacked the subtly to usurp the spell, there was something he really wanted to know. "Yesterday, were you telling the truth? Do you really think about me while you pleasure yourself."

She bit her lip, nodding.

He groaned, sliding his hands down to palm the rounded curve of her backside. She moaned quietly, pressing her unbound breasts against his chest.

"Do you really mean to do this?" He asked, his voice low and gravelly. She had no idea what she was inviting and he tried to hold his slim margin of reason even as the soft molding of her body cradled his throbbing flesh, offering warm temptations.

"I'm determined to do this," she whispered, rubbing her lips along the underside of his jaw.

Apparently Sofia under a truth spell held little difference from her usual self, except that she was somewhat bolder. Still so sweet and innocent. He was still half set on deny her until she bit him, lightly scraping her teeth against his throat. Then he feared he'd gone straight past selfish into depraved.

 _Fine_ , a dark voice whispered. He was tired of being the conscience for both of them, especially considering he barely had enough for one person. If she was so _determined_ as she put it, who was he to stop her?

She yelped in surprise when he grasped her wrist, fairly dragging her across the room. She stumbled where he pushed her roughly towards his workbench. Straightening with as much aplomb as she could muster, she looked him square in the eye.

"Well," he offered with mock civility, indicating the workspace behind her. "Turn around."

She blinked, not expecting that request. Gathered her courage, adeptly hiding any unease, she turned around, instinctively placing her hands on the table's surface. He regarded her a moment, letting the tension mount. She heard him move, removing his robes, then his gloves. She could see him from the corner of her eyes, so close but not touching her. It was a struggle not to yearn her body back against his. When his hands encircled her waist she sighed in relief.

Cedric had to turn her away from him because if he was to keep any bit of patience he couldn't look at the raw longing written across her face. His fingers splayed across her rib cage, testing the truth of what he suspected. Beneath her dress there was nothing but yielding, warm flesh. He groaned, no corset. Brazenly, he moved to capture the soft, full weight of her breasts, molding the yielding flesh to his palms. Sofia breathed in sharply, arching into his hands as he rolled his thumbs over the pebbled peaks of her nipples through the fabric.

His chest was warm against her back, even through the layers of clothing. The feel of his hands, hot and rough against her sensitive breasts sent shocks of pleasure rippling down her body, heightening the heat pooled between her thighs. They'd barely begun and already she felt dizzy, drowning in his touch, his scent. Sounds she didn't recognize warbled from her throat.

His touch slid down, over her waist and hips, down her thighs and lower to the very hem of her dress. As he gathered the garment up he discovered that a corset wasn't the only undergarment she'd eschewed. He skimmed over her bare ankles, up the slender swell of her calves to the sinful expanse of her thighs. No frivolous roses or lace were needed to adorn the porcelain purity of her skin. The very sight of her bare skin, it's pale tones complimented by the dark plum of her dress, sent a primitive throb racing to his groin.

He growled to discover she hadn't forgone all her undergarments. He wasted no time on polite inquiries or gentle questioning touches, pealing her bloomers down over the plush curves of her hips and rump without any social niceties. She gasped, but didn't offer a word of protest when he yanked her underwear down around her ankles. He waited as she obligingly stepped out of them, kicking off her slippers for good measure.

He cupped his hands around her backside, kneading each cheek until she squirmed against him. He wondered how she'd react if he gave into the tempting desire to place a well earned spank against her buttock. Briefly he entertained the notion of seeing his palm print blossom across her pale skin. She pressed back against him, unwittingly rubbing against his prominent erection, and he felt the air forced from his lungs.

She moaned lightly, and he couldn't resist weaving his fingers between her legs. He groaned against her ear, finding her more than ready. He toyed with her briefly, touching lightly over her curls before pressing into her yielding sex. Her approving moan nearly rent his sanity to pieces. His rough tongue plundered her ear, sending ribbons of sensation straight to her core.

"Since we're both telling the truth," he hissed, "Why don't you regal me with your thoughts at this particular moment."

His fingers twisted up, pumping in rapid succession until she was shaking all over. She braced her hands against the table, pivoting up on her toes while angling her hips back against him. "More," she whimpered, taking herself by surprise. His hesitation was infinitesimal, but she felt it. "Please."

He continued on, making her cry out. He reached beneath her skirt with his other hand, threading his fingers between her legs from the front to rub the swollen nub at the top of her folds. Her hips jerked as he played her body in concert with both hands. She squirmed, unable to hold still. "Oh, my goodness," she panted.

"Seriously?" He added a second finger, pumping faster. "That's the best you can do? My goodness?"

She cried out, bucking against the table. She didn't know if she wanted to press back against his thrusting hand or forward into the rotating touch that electrified the fire pooled in her core.

Her muscled clenched, washing his fingertips in a wave of validating heat. "Fuck," he groaned, unable to deny himself a greedy thrust of his hips against her squirming backside.

Her arms collapsed, sending her into a graceless heap upon his worktable. She continued to convulse, completely undone by his touch. "Fuck," she moaned, apparently taking his declaration as instruction.

He choked on a helpless whimper of arousal. She was still coming around his fingers, but to hear such dirty language come tumbling from her pristine lips at his lascivious maneuvers made him weak with a heady combination of lust and power.

He pulled his hands from her sex, gripping her hips in a harsh grasp. He needed to stop this. Now. He didn't want to stop. He wanted ... His hands trembled, unable to tears himself away. The spell bore down on him, smothering his reason with hunger for her tender body.

Sofia regained her breath, rising herself up on shaking arms. Cedric had stopped caressing her, allowing her a moment's reprieve to think. His hands kneaded her hips and she pressed eagerly against him. Without his fingers, she felt hollow inside and she wanted, _needed_ , to fill that hollow ache.

"Please," she murmured, rubbing against him shamelessly. "Please, please ..."

He stared at the back of her head incredulously. She couldn't be asking, _begging_ , for him to continue. She couldn't mean for him to ... She'd allow him to do whatever he wanted, he realized. She wouldn't stop him until he plunged them both into an abyss of sensual destruction. She'd let him take her here, now, against this worn table top, her skirts up about her waist.

Sofia was on fire. She felt the beating heart of her core calling to him in nameless command. She needed him, now. She wound her hand up, reaching back to thread her fingers through his hair. When she offered up her exposed neck, he couldn't help running his tongue along the long column of pristine skin. Her finger tightened, nails scraping lightly against his scalp. He growled and bit down, sucking hard until she cried out in startled pleasure.

He nibbled along her throat, drawing out mewling sounds from her. His fingers tightened on her hips, leaving prints on her pale skin. Those sounds were driving him to the brink of madness, making him shake with want.

He needed to stop. He needed ... His cock throbbed, becoming almost too much to bear.

He pulled her away from the bench, turning her around roughly. Her skirts tumbled down and he thought momentarily that if there was a moment to stop, it was now.

"Up on the table," he growled, sucking her lower lip between his teeth before biting down gently.

She crawled up onto his work surface, her parted knees going to either side of his lean hips. She cupped his head, drawing him into a searing kiss. She'd always been a dangerously fast learner. His hands crawled up her thighs, dragging her skirt back up as they went.

She didn't know what to expect, what to hope for, but when he dropped to his knees before her, her mouth parted in silent wonder. He gripped each thigh roughly, his thumbs skimming perilously close to her core. She gripped the edge of the table, going still in anticipation as well as apprehension. She remembered just them what he'd said the night before:

 _"Or I could kiss you ... I meant down there."_

Her thighs seemed to tremble in time with her skipping heartbeat. His heated gaze held hers, even when his thumbs brushed through the dark curls to touch the velvety folds that hid the secret heart of her. She watched, entranced as he lowered his mouth to bestow an open-mouthed kiss to her sex.

His tongue began to move and her head fell back, rattling a collection of glass vials along their shelf. She pried one of her hands away from its mad grip on the table's edge to card her fingers through his hair. She peered down, enjoying the mesh of light and dark strands beneath her fingers, the perfect comparison for the man kneeling before her, offering dark and delightful propitiations to her covetous body.

Cedric groaned. She tasted like sunlight and flowers, honey and milk, like salvation and redemption; all things effulgent and nebulous that he'd never dared to name in his dark fantasies. He shifted his grip, pulling her closer to the edge so she could better receive the ministrations he longed to bestow upon her. He'd give her anything she wanted. He'd burn the world to ashes if she demanded it.

Sofia cried out, rocking her hips in an involuntary gesture, seeking to grasp the intangible. Her fingers tightened to claws, pulling slightly on his hair.

Her artless demands left him shaking, teetering on the slim edge of his sanity. One hand drifted down, popping open the buttons of his trousers. He nearly sighed in relief, but never stopped the tireless strokes of his tongue.

She bucked and moaned, writhed and cried, and he gave her no quarter, sucking on the tight bud of her clits until she sobbed with pleasure. And then he only added the maddening stoke of his fingers, filling her as she continued to spasm beneath his relentless touch. She cried out again and again.

When he finally pulled his mouth away, bestowing a last, taunting kiss upon her folds, she was very nearly out of her mind. Her trembling arms reached for him, needing comfort in the face of such merciless indulgence. She felt nearly glutted with pleasure, but still craved more. Even as she drew him into the tender haven of her embrace, her hips jerked against the rigid heat separated from her only by the intervening fabric of his pants.

He kissed her neck, her ear, across her cheek to finally caress her mouth. She didn't murmur of sound of protest to taste the forbidden flavor of her own nectar on his lips. Her hands caressed a restless circuit through his hair, down his back and up again.

He managed to pull his tongue from the welcoming cave of her mouth. "We need," he panted, "To stop."

 _Stop?_ Sofia's mind wailed in protest. Why on earth would she want to do that? What would they want to do that? This is what they both wanted.

She drew him back into her kiss, wrapping not just her arms, but her legs around him as well. His pants were open and her finger itched to crawl inside and caress the hidden heat that she could feel but could not see. Her hips opened, welcoming him into the cradle of her thighs.

He groaned against her mouth.

"Sofia," he gasped, and she felt the resonance of her name falling from his lips like a bell ringing in her spine. For the first time she felt the betraying prickle of tears behind her eyes.

She could do this, she reminded herself. She deserved this. She'd been such a good girl her whole life. She deserved something for herself, even if it came with the bittersweet pain of knowing he'd never feel about her the way she felt for him.

"We need," he gasped between kisses, "to ... You need to ... tell me ..."

Tell him what? For a breathless moment she wondered if he was entreating her to confess her true feelings for him.

"To stop," he finished when he next pulled his lips from hers.

No, she didn't want to. Her hand slid between them, seeking that unknown heat, hoping to entice him, though she didn't know how.

He caught her hand in his own, tangling their fingers together as he pulled her hand away. "Don't ... I don't think I can ..."

"Why not?" She wailed, her voice hitting a grating, petulant note.

A wave of anger overtook him. He was trying to do the right fucking thing here. Though he didn't know why. She'd caused this, thinking she could play around with spells she didn't understand, believing she had control of the situation. The spoiled brat deserved for once in her life to reap the consequences of her actions.

He twisted the fingers of his free hand into her hair, grasping a handful and pulling her neck back. He'd meant to startle her but she found the dominant gesture shockingly arousing.

"Believe this, Princess," he growled against her ear, "I am about two seconds away from burying my _cock_ ," he emphasized the word with a rough thrust of his flagrant arousal against her bare folds, "Inside your tight, _virgin_ cunt."

He expected her to recoil from his crass language and rough treatment, but she moaned shamelessly, pressing back against him. He gritted his teeth against her artless teasing. She'd let him do it, he realized. She wouldn't utter a word of protest."Which I believe I mentioned before will hurt. A lot."

"Why-," she panted, unable to catch her breath, but something in his tone made her ask, "Why would you do that if it would hurt me?"

He seemed to wrestle with his answer and she recognized his attempt to subvert the spell. "Answer me," she demanded.

"Because," he blurted, the grip on her hair easing, "Because I'm afraid I want you too much to avoid it."

Her lips parted in surprise, not only from his words but the entreating earnest, almost desperate plea in his eyes. He was afraid.

"You don't want to hurt me," she said softly, not questioning the assertion at all.

Some of the tension eased from his body, fingers loosening to cup the back of her head. "Of course not," he whispered.

"Why?"

His expression clouded and she saw him begin to retreat.

"Why, Cedric?"

He blinked, the spell forcing a response. "Isn't it customary for one human not to wish harm on another."

A nice, bland, _honest_ answer.

"It's not only that you don't wish harm on me," she squeezed her fingers where they were still enmeshed with his. "You're afraid you're going to hurt me. The very idea frightens you. Why?"

His eyes softened, pleading with her helplessly not to follow this line of questioning.

She bent forward to kiss him, a soft brush of her lips over his. She asked, feeling rather desperate herself, "Why, Cedric? Tell me, please."

"Because I love you."

She froze. She hadn't expected ... Hadn't dared to hope ...

"You," she said slowly, "Love me?"

His eyes clouded, self-loathing and disgust darkening their depths. "Yes, I love you, though, believe me, I have tried not to."

Thrown by his unexpected confession, she didn't know what to say to that. "Why?"

He untangled his fingers from hers, and his hand from her hair. She tightened her hold on his shoulders to keep him against her. His palms pressed flat to the table top on either side of her hips, his head tilting down and away. His shoulders began to shake and for a dizzying moment she thought she'd made him cry, until a mirthless chuckle rumbled up his throat.

"Why?" He backed out of her embrace.

She would have followed, but was forced to press her bunched skirt down to cover her open thighs.

"Why?" He repeated with a vicious edge. "I love you, you silly girl. Do you understand? I love you, and it isn't civilized, or poetic, or nice."

He turned on her, the words bubbling out in a torrent that once released couldn't be stopped. "I love you and it's ugly and vicious and dark. It's all visceral need and ...," he waved his hands trying to convey the incomprehensible torrent inside him, "And brutal lust."

Sofia stared in wide-eyed shock, too stunned to reply. He was pouring our his heart, detailing emotions she'd only flirted with.

He dropped his hands in defeat. "It's like you suck the air from the very room when you walk in. I feel like I'm drowning when I'm around you, but it doesn't matter, because breathing seems a small consequence compared to being near you."

He took a heaving sigh, letting his shoulders droop. "So now you see how utterly besotted and pathetic and desperate I am. And, contrary to your faith in me, I possess very few morals. So if you ask me to take you on this very table," he stepped closer, drawn like a moth to the flame that will inevitably burn it to ash, "I will. If you ask me to ravish you right here and now I won't have the heart to deny you."

Sofia watched him approach, her hands and bunched skirt pressed tight between her legs. She licked her dry lips.

"Do you understand now?" He placed his right hand down beside her thigh, thumb just touching, before doing the same with his other hand beside her other leg. He leaned in close and she held her breath. "I can't say no, Sofia."

His breath ghosted over her lips making them tingle and she began to realize what damage she'd wrought with her spell.

"I can't say no," he repeated, whispering as his lips brushed over hers, "Because that would be a lie. I don't want to say no. I don't want to deny you."

His lips slid from her mouth across her cheek to her ear, feathery soft. She pressed her balled up fists tighter against her core and whimpered.

"So tell me no Sofia, please," his voice was pleading and she felt tears prickle behind her eyes. "Tell me you don't want this. You don't want me."

She feared what she would do if she moved. A shuttering sob warbled up her throat and it was the catalyst that spurred her to action. One moment he was reaching for her with both hands and the next she was groping for her wand. Her trembling fingers grasped the slender branch of wood.

Cedric looked down, eyes going slightly wide when she placed the tip of her wand against the center of his chest. "Quiescite Veritate," she commanded.

A shudder ran through his whole body. His head hung down between his shoulder blades as he quivered, panting. She sat frozen, still trapped between his hands. Carefully, she reached out to stroke her fingers through his hair.

His head jerked up, staring in distrustful accusation.

She felt a tear slide down her cheek. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Don't!" He snarled, surprising her with the vicious tenor of his voice. He tore himself off of her, striding away. "I don't want your fucking pity."

"Cedric," she called, her voice breaking, "It's not pity. Please, listen to me."

He wrapped his arms around his chest and she felt the self-protective gesture cut deep inside her. His eyes slid closed, pressed tightly shut. "Just-," he took a deep breath. "Just leave, please, and let me pretend none of this ever happened."

Silence stretched out and he imagined her gathering her tattered pride around her, perhaps searching for her discarded undergarments.

"No."

He opened his eyes to find her sitting where he left her on his worktable, her tears wiped away and her rosebud mouth twisted into a stubborn pout. His own mouth twisted in displeasure. "What?"

"I said no. Not until you listen to me."

He rolled his shoulders. "And what exactly is it that you feel is so vital I heard at this particular moment?"

"I love you."

"You're very funny," he sneered, feeling too raw and exposed to entertain her child-like notions of affection.

"I'm not lying."

"Oh really? And I'm supposed to believe that?"

"Of course."

He gritted his teeth in frustration against her tenacity. "Why?"

"Because I can't."

His mouth opened to shoot another reply, but he snapped it shut. "You ... can't?"

He thought back. She'd released him from the spell; he was no longer bound to tell the truth, or at least some version of truth; but, he realized, she hadn't released herself.

"I do love you. And I do want you. But," she twisted her hands in her rumpled skirt, considering. "I don't believe I do wish to be ravished on this table top."

"No?" He asked, his voice a bemused mutter.

"No. I'd like to be ravished in a bed." He continued to stare in incredulous silence. "Your bed, if that wasn't clear."

* * *

Author's Note: Quiescite veritate means cease truth, at least according to Google translate. Sorry to end it there, but this chapter was getting out of hand length-wise. Next chapter, rated M for Mmmmmm-lemon. :D

Your reviews are fantastic! More please. *Insert big puppy dog eyes here*


	4. Chapter 4

Update 7/11/2016: Fixed some typos, some moderate changes to sentences and thematic elements.

Author's note: So a few thanks to hand out. Thank You Lyra Lupin for allowing me to plagiarize your awesome review. Lyra wrote a wonderful line about Sofia and Cedric: "she's a golden light, he's the wounded darkness and together they balance one another." That inspire a few of the comparisons in this chapter and a specific line. You'll probably be able to see which one. :)

To the amazing Jess Deaton (we all know who that is) for granting permission to reference her fantastic fanart. This is my first foray into tattooed Cedric. ;) I combined the tattoos you see in That Old Black Magic with the tattoos he has in You Could Be My Queen. (And I added a few of my own.) And I have to give credit where it's due. Sofia's apprentice dress was definitely inspired by and based off of Deaton's Witchy Woman artwork.

A big thank you to prof-shader for this song suggestion:

I was afraid to put myself on the line for a boy  
Until he put me in my place and showed me how to enjoy  
Myself, I think I need your help  
I think she's coming back

You're the only one  
Who's making me come  
To my sinful senses  
I'll never love  
Anyone the same  
I'll never feel ashamed  
Of using you for pleasure

Am I naïve to think that he could be the love of my life?  
There is a voice inside my head that's tellin' me that it's right  
I never thought I'd tell him  
How scared I am of losing him

You're the only one  
Who's making me come  
To my sinful senses  
I'll never love  
Anyone the same  
I'll never feel ashamed  
Of using you for pleasure

Someday we'll both be older  
I wonder if we'll be together looking back on the past  
But I don't care if I don't live to see another day  
Oh, I love you in the worst way

-Using you, Mars Argo

(And, even though the lyrics have nothing to do with this story, I kept listening to "Don't Threaten Me With a Good Time" by Panic! at the Disco while writing this.)

And a huge thank you to all of you for reading my nonsense. Your reviews really make my day and inspire me to keep writing. :D

I apologize for any typos, this chapter melted my brain! No joke. I'm not sure anything makes sense, but here she be. Picking up right where we left off ...

* * *

Spelled: Chapter 4

"You're serious," he said, a look of patent disbelief on his face.

She nodded.

He stared, seeming unable to comprehend. "Why?"

"You mean about the ravishing? I thought that would be self-explanatory. Everything we've done so far has been quite delightful and-"

He sliced his hand through the air between them, cutting her off. "No, not that." He looked at her with a deeply confused and imploring expression. "Why on earth would you think that you love me?"

She smiled and he felt his heart stutter. She looked elfish and adorable perched on his workbench, her bare legs hanging over the side.

"I thought that should be self-explanatory too."

He couldn't help moving towards her, drawn in by her warmth. "Evidently not, as I'm asking."

"I think I've always loved you." She reached out towards him, unwinding his arms from their protective embrace around his torso, and entwining the fingers of one hand with his. "As a little girl I idolized you for teaching me magic and taking my interest seriously when no one else really did. As a adolescent I adored you for being patient with me, and telling me to never give up. When you told me I could do something, I believed it."

She used their joint hands to tug him closer, until he was standing again between her knees. A delicate flush brightened her cheeks as she continued. "When I got older I realized I loved you. Not just for teaching me magic and believing in me, I love that you never give up either. You try so hard, and if you fail, you only try that much harder. I love that doing the right thing may not come naturally to you, but you do it anyway. But it's not just your abilities."

She rubbed her lips against his throat, working her way up his jaw until she was whispering in his ear.

"I love the sound of your voice. I love the smell of your skin. I love the color of your hair. I love _you_ , and it is nice and poetic. But I can't say it's very civilized, because I do need you, and I do want you." She bit lightly down on his ear. "Desperately."

He _whimpered_ , trying to hold on to the thread of the conversation. "You make me out to be a much better person than I am."

"No." She pulled back to look him in the eye. "I've just always seen the best of you, even when you refuse to see it yourself."

When he touched her face, his hand trembled. "You really mean it."

"I really do." It wasn't a question, but she answered anyway to make sure that he knew. "Now, will you please kiss me?"

His hand cupped her jaw and he moved towards her. She leaned forward eagerly. At the last possible moment though, he pulled away. "Wait."

Sofia wanted to scream with frustration. "What now?"

He gave her a withering look, holding out his empty hand. Softening with realization, she handed over her wand. When he uttered the counter spell, tapping her gently on the head, she shivered. Lightheaded, she swayed forward, but he caught her.

Feeling weak, she pressed her forehead against his neck. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't know. I didn't understand what the spell would do. I never meant to take away your free will."

He looked at her carefully. Through their joined hands she felt tension in his grip. "Truth, as you've probably figured out by now, is subjective. Your base desires are not necessarily what's best for you."

Her brow furrowed, thinking over his meaning, weighing his words against what she'd felt under the spell. His free hand touched hesitantly on her back before caressing up and down in a comforting motion. She melted against him. "You mean like having no self-control. Like eating too much candy until you make yourself sick."

 _Or almost fucking your employer's daughter on a table_ , he thought wryly. Leave it to Sofia to choose the most delightfully childish description of this situation.

Sofia snuggled against his chest, wondering why he was so tense beneath her hands. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, enjoying the feeling of being touched, most exceptionally because it was him doing so. She expected that the light, reserved motion of his hand along her back would ease the burning heat still coursing through her, but instead it only heightened her frenzied state of arousal. She hooked her heels around the back of his legs, scooting closer to press against him.

When he stilled she realized something: _Your base desires aren't necessarily what's best for you._ He was waiting for her to change her mind; expecting that without the truth spell to guild her emotions, she would no longer want him. He was wrong; she still wanted him as much as ever, but with the spell worn away all her self-conscious feeling returned, making her question if she should be doing this.

 _But_ , she remembered, _he loves me_. The knowledge suffusing her with a warm tingle.

"I'm still waiting for that kiss," she murmured, gathering her confidence. She lifted her head slowly, her gaze flickering from his mouth to his eyes, wondering what he would do.

He licked his lips in a nervous gesture. He'd kissed her crudely, pouring in all the crass lust he'd hidden from her, but he had yet to kiss her with all the love that broiled beneath the surface. She tilted her head obligingly, breath going shallow. When he touched his lips to hers it felt like absolution for his black soul. She was all silver light where he was tormented darkness, together they melded into a smoky grey just shy of lavender, like the sun dawning over the night.

His lips molded to hers, content to feel the blush soft skin against his own without pressing for more. She was the one to part her lips, flicking her tongue against his closed mouth in a questioning caress. When he shyly met her tentative thrust with one of his own, his heartbeat kicked up. His hand crept around the back of her neck, tangling in the downy fleece at her nape, coaxing her head back to deepen their kiss. She moved obligingly, murmuring sounds of contentment from the back of her throat.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were panting. Sofia felt nervous and excited all at once. "So, about that ravishing."

"Sofia-"

She recognized the reluctant tone in his voice. "No," she interrupted whatever he was going to say. "I believe I was promised a ravishing."

"I don't recall actually promising ...," A shadow of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. She found the sight unbearably endearing.

Encouraged by his playful attitude, she looped her arms around his neck, peppering his jaw and throat with kisses. "You said if I asked, you'd take me on this very table."

He dipped his head to latch his mouth onto hers, quickly becoming addicted to the feeling. "Yes," he murmured, when he managed to pull away. "But there was the small matter of being under a mind-altering spell at the time."

"I did say I was sorry."

His smirk deepened, closely resembling one of those devious smiles she first saw the previous night. "I'm sure I can surmise a fair punishment for you."

She bit her lip deliberately, knowing he couldn't resist the gesture. Her voice dropped to a smoky cadence. "What did you have in mind?"

He was very aware of her lack of undergarments and that only a few, easily breeched layers of fabric lay between them. The unfulfilled discomfort of his own arousal still pulsed through his veins, cradled by her thighs. A latent stab of consciousness told him he should still put a stop to this, but she was too tempting, offering herself up along with all her tender notions of love and forgiveness. She claimed to love all of him, and he could say he felt the same for her, but for very different reasons. They were so impractically different from one another. She was so young. Grown, certainly, but still so terribly young in so many ways. She couldn't possibly see the inevitable burning wreck of an end they would make when all was said and done.

Then again, foresight had never been his strong suit. His plans never went as expected, and he wanted so badly for once in his life to feel optimistic about something, even if it was a lie.

There were a dozen questions he should be asking her, but there was only one that seemed to matter at the moment. "Are you certain this is what you want?"

"Absolutely." Her voice warbled with desire. She wanted him so badly, unaccustomed to coveting anything. She pressed against him, molding the yielding curves of her body to his. The kiss she gave him left him breathless. "Take me upstairs Cedric."

It took some maneuvering and a few more kisses before Cedric could bear to peel his body from hers long enough to make the trip to his bedroom. She kept their fingers entwined, following him into the one room of the tower she'd never been in. Ravenous curiosity ate at her, wanting to know that much more about his personal world, but he didn't give her the opportunity to contemplate the Spartan room she found herself in the center of. All she was able to take in was a bed with rumpled sheets and a few stacks of book littered about the room before he was behind her, running his hands along her back, seeking the ties that held her dress closed. He loomed close enough to touch, but when she turned her head for a kiss he moved teasingly away. She remembered his words from the previous night:

 _"I'd take you upstairs to my bedroom. There I'd remove each piece of your clothing, one by one, slowly, being careful not to touch any bit of your skin ... because I want you to shiver in anticipation. I want you to burn for my touch."_

He worked slowly, plucking each crisscrossed lacing loose with infinite patience. And by the time she felt her gown fall slack, she was indeed shivering in anticipation. His hands slid around her waist, molding the layers of her dress and shift to her body. She began to pant as his hands moved deliberately upward. When he skimmed the underside of her breasts, she closed her eyes, silently willing him to continue.

Though he might appear calm, inside his head all he could hear was: _For once in your worthless life, do not fuck this up!_ He cupped the glorious mounds of her breasts in his hands, sweeping his thumbs up and across the puckered peaks of her nipples. Her lips parted on a moan.

He struggled to go slowly, to show patience, but those breathy sounds were making it difficult. He'd already touched and tasted her, now he wanted to see all of her. He released her only long enough to come around, standing before her. Gathering the folds of both shift and dress between his fingers, Sofia's eyes flew open to lock with his as he drew the last barrier on her body up over her head. He tossed her clothes carelessly away as his hazy eyes roamed over her. In his fantasies he'd imagined what lay beneath her gossamer ball gowns, her plain apprentice dress, but his imagination proved paltry compared to the real thing. He was almost afraid to touch such pristine beauty.

She let her arms fall down, hands landing lightly on his shoulders. Her bare breasts puckered under his heated gaze. Sofia's pulse roared in her ears. Utterly naked, a thousand thoughts of inadequacy ran rampant though her mind. Cedric's brown eyes darkened, trailing a path of fire everywhere his gaze touched. She struggled not to cover herself, feeling exposed and aroused all at once.

His arms encircled her and she knew she'd never forget the raw sensual feeling of her nude body against his fully clothed form. A lazy shiver waltzed across her skin when his fingers skated down her spine to the small of her back. Darting sparks of electricity seemed to emanate from every place he touched. Those teasing fingertips slide across her left hip, then up her arm. His pupils were blown wide, lips slightly parted around his ragged breathing, and she became entranced by his reaction, mesmerized that she could affect him so.

She'd never felt so exposed, baring both body and soul. When his fingers slid down, over her collar bones, down the slope of her chest, coming ever closer to the tingling tips of her breasts, she had to close her eyes against the onslaught of anticipation. Entirely focused on his feathery touch, she was wholly unprepared for the feel of his mouth fastening over her other nipple. She cried out, gasping.

Pleasure coursed through her and her knees wobbled threateningly. Cedric gently eased her backwards towards the bed, only breaking contact to press open-mouthed kisses to her other breast. When the back of her knees hit the edge of his bed, she tumbled backwards onto it. The rough sheets tickled her back, but a calming scent that was purely Cedric surrounded her. She scooted back to lie against the pillows, staring up with wide eyes as he began to remove his own clothing.

His tie came off first, exposing an inky stain at the side of his throat. A tattoo, she realized, never expecting such a thing. His vest came off next and he began to work at the buttons of his shirt. She gripped the rumpled sheet with nervous hands to keep them from shaking. The heartbeat thrumming in her throat threatened to choke her.

As he disrobed, he watched her, his eyes sliding from her blushing face, over her flushed breasts, to her clenched thighs. He paused halfway through undoing the buttons of his shirt, one of those devious grins parting his lips. Instead of frightening her, this time his slow wicked smile curled her toes.

A shiver of trepidation shot down her spine when he knelt on the bed, hooking a hand around her ankle.

"You claimed to think of me while you touched yourself."

She met his gaze, unable to look away despite the urge to hide her face. "Y-yes."

"Well," he replied conversationally while his hand wound lazily up her calf to her knee. "I can only assume you're thinking of me now."

He couldn't be suggesting ...

Going limp with shock, her legs parted easily when he pressed her knees apart. She fought the urge to cover herself from his penetrating gaze. Her face burned, torn between mortification and arousal. He gathered one of her hands in his own, leading her fingers to her own throbbing core.

"I couldn't," she whispered, scandalized.

That challenging brow cocked up. "Why not?"

She stared at his intent face before her gaze drifted down. Her other hand wandered up to caress the inky mark at his throat. For the first time she began to wonder how much she actually knew about the man she was casually offering her body and heart to? What much did she not know about him?

"Do you like them?" He asked, sounding almost shy.

"Them?"

"The tattoos." He held up his hand. A runic symbol was branded across the back of each finger, just before his knuckles. "I have quite a few."

She couldn't believe she hadn't noticed them before, but then every time he took off his gloves his hands had been rather busy. Her fingertips lingered at the unknown symbol at his throat. "Yes," she confessed, wondering what she didn't know about herself as well.

"I'll show you the rest," he purred in that silky cadence she found so alluring, "If you do something for me."

"What?" She breathed, apprehensively certain she already knew.

He pressed their still joined hands to her damp sex, making her drag in a shuttering breath. "Show me."

Of all the forbidden things he'd dared her to do, this was by far the most salacious. She realized that he still didn't quite believe her confession, but he wanted to. When her fingers began to move he took his guiding hand away. A flicker of shock registered across his face before it vanished under a haze of lust. As enticing as his reaction was, she couldn't bear to watch him watching her. Pressing her eyes shut, she turned her face away, trying to imagine being alone in the privacy of her own room.

The illusion was nearly impossible to achieve because she'd never been so brazen as to lay stark naked across her bed. Living a life so often interrupted by maids and other servants, any timid jabs at pleasure had been swift and secret, in the dark and under the covers. She found the erotic sensation of her exposed body shockingly arousing. Her nipples stiffened in the cool air and goose bumps rippled down her abdomen. Her trembling fingertips slipped through her folds, finding the secret bud that never failed to make her shake and pant.

She dared a peek, nervously curious what Cedric thought about her brazen display. She understood why he was always staring at her mouth when she bit her lip because he was doing the same now and she found the sight enticing.

He finished unbuttoning his shirt, peeling it from his shoulders. He didn't see her watching him because he wasn't looking at her face. She studied him from under the fringe of her lashes. Finally able to see a bit of his body, her hungry gaze drank in the dark bands around each bicep and the thick blocks of script running nearly the entire length of each forearm. The black ink complimented the pale tones of his skin. He wasn't lean or toned, but somewhere delightfully in between. His slightly wide shoulders and narrow tapered waist left nowhere for the underlying muscle to hide. An enticing groove cut from the top of each hip leading down into his pants. A fine dusting of black hair trailed from his navel heading in the same direction. Their eyes met when she gasped aloud, ignited by the ministrations of her own hand combined with the alluring sight of his body. His eyes looked midnight black in the low light. When he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his pants with a hint of masculine swagger so completely uncharacteristic of him, she felt her mouth go dry. Her eyes flew back down and she couldn't look away.

She'd never seen a naked man before, only anatomical drawings in books. When he slipped his pants down and off, her eyes widened at the rigid flesh jutting out from between his hips, rising from a thatch of dark hair. The implication of their nude bodies caused a delicious shiver to dance down her spine, heightening the heat pooled beneath her fingertips. But when he knelt on the bed, she stilled in apprehension.

"Don't stop," he commanded, his voice husky.

She resumed the motion of her fingers, not at all confident that she could find release this way, so fraught with tension. She squirmed, wanting him to touch her. And then he did, leaning over her to draw one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking fiercely, while palming her other breast.

She stroked her own sex, no longer caring what was proper or right. Only this sensation mattered. Only that he enjoyed watching her as much as she enjoyed pleasing him. She arched brazenly into him, offering more of herself to his hungry mouth and ruthless tongue. All that matter was what they enjoyed together. Her neck bent back, hips coming off the bed as she _screamed_ , coming harder than she ever had.

He slapped his hand over her mouth, quickly smoothing her broken cry. While they might be secluded here, he knew full well the walls weren't that thick. Now was not the time to have Baileywick come running to investigate. The thought of the old steward threatened to douse his ardor like a bucket of ice water.

He leaned over her, replacing his hand with his lips. She blinked her eyes open in drugged stupor. Pleasure ran in sluggish rivulets through her limps. Everything they'd done had been to her benefit. She wanted to return to favor, to make him feel as good as he made her feel. Her nails skated over his chest, down his stomach, causing him to suck in a shuttering breath. The muscles beneath her finger jumped when she teased over the dark trail of soft hair running from his navel.

Emboldened by his rapid breathing and hoarse groans, she cupped her unskilled hand around the full, rigid length of him. At once she was entranced by the contrasting texture of hard heat sheathed in velvet soft skin. Her heart was pounding, terrified of making a wrong move, but when she wrapped her slender fingers around him, squeezing gently, he moaned, dropping his forehead against hers.

Cedric's eyes rolled back, almost undone by her novice touches. He couldn't resist a selfish thrust against her palm. She held him securely, sliding down before adding a tentative sweep back up. Her thumb swept over his tip, smearing the drops of his beaded essence. If he allowed her to explore any further, he risked being unmanned. Gently he took her hand away, pressing a kiss to her palm on a whim.

The time had come and he couldn't put off the inevitable any longer. Patiently he eased her knees apart, moving into place between them. She held her breath, not sure what to expect, but when he lay down atop her pliant body, leading her into an indolent kiss, she melted beneath him. She luxuriated in the tactile sensation of his bare skin pressed so completely against hers, hip to hip, belly to belly and chest to chest. Normally cosseted in layers of fabric, even in the staunchest summer heat, she'd never had the opportunity to contemplate the slow, sensual drag of skin against skin contact. She couldn't stop running her hands restlessly down his back, loving the mesh of muscle over bone as his shoulders shifted beneath her touch.

The persistent heat of his arousal lay against her thigh and wondered why he still hesitated.

"What are you waiting for?" She breathed.

The urge to lie was tempting, as he didn't like to appear vulnerable in front of anyone. But she was the exception, so he told her the truth. "I'm afraid. I don't wish to hurt you. "

She kissed his cheek, hugging him tightly. She tried to merely sound curious, but an anxious note still crept into her voice. "Does it really hurt? You said-"

"I know what I said," he grumbled, regretting his unvarnished description the previous night. He nuzzled the hollow beneath her ear. "Yes, from what I understand, it hurts."

She thought for a moment. Delicately she traced the band on one of his arms. "Did these hurt?"

"Yes."

"Then why did you get so many?"

"Because," he murmured between kisses against her throat. He couldn't seem to stop touching her, and his mind was not at all on their conversation. "It was worth it."

"Why?"

He sighed, seeing that she wasn't going to let up. "Tattoos," he explained, leaning up to look at her, "Are sort of a rite of passage for sorcerers. Besides, I like them."

"Exactly," she smiled brilliantly before kissing the tip of his nose. "I like you and you're certainly worth it."

He regarded her a moment, only now seeing how he'd walked straight into her trap. He sounded almost proud, "Oh, you are devious."

Then he hesitated a moment. "But there is something I should tell you."

"Oh, a confession." She smiled wide. "Do tell me your sins, Sorcerer."

He let out a breathy laugh, having his own words turned back on him. "It's just that I've never ..."

Her eyes widened in understanding. "Are you a virgin?"

He scowled at her.

"It's alright if you are," she assured in her sunniest voice.

"No," he growled. "I just meant I've never, what do you even call it? Deflowered anyone before."

She kissed his lips softly. "That's alright. I trust you."

He didn't look reassured. But when his brow furrowed in thought, she recognized _that_ look on his face. "What are you scheming?"

He slanted her an unfathomable look, one that had her toes curling. A slow, calculating smile spread across his face. That same smile that once made her nervous, now she found herself falling in love with it. He sat up suddenly, shifting back to sit on his heels. She watched him nervously, letting out a startled yelp when he gripped her thighs and pulled her down the bed to meet him. Her sprawled thighs straddled his waist.

She trembled, going weak with anticipation and uncertainty. Looking down the length of her body, she could see the full, turgid weight of his arousal jutting from between his thighs. She stared in unabashed curiosity, wondering how their bodies could ever fit together. (She knew how they were _supposed_ to fit together, it just didn't seem possible.) His hand slipped between them and she jumped when he parted her slick folds, caressing the tight bud hidden at the top of her sex. Despite her nerves, she couldn't help murmuring encouragements, eyes sliding closed as sparks of pleasure began to course through her.

At the first flutter of ecstasy, she felt a foreign heat press against her, startling in its smooth, fiery warmth. Her eyes opened wide, too shocked for subtly or subterfuge as she realized what he meant to do. He looked almost pained and her heart beat out of rhythm. When he dipped the tip of his manhood slowly into her untried body, her fingers began to curl where she gripped the sheets. But then he withdrew, leaving her gasping. She writhed because his thumb never stopping its dark magic against her clit. She recognized distantly that he was attempting to distract her from what was coming. He pressed into her again, further this time, and the shocking feeling of being stretched so intimately made her pant. When he pulled back again, she whined in frustration.

She was still drenched from their earlier activities and her recent orgasm. The silky warmth easing his passage filled him with a perverse satisfaction. He pressed against her again, this damning dance of advance and withdraw driving him to desperate madness. It took all his patience and concentration to go slowly, taking great care to not cause any more discomfort for her than was absolutely necessary. She was unrelentingly tight, making him shake with depraved desire. But it was tempered when he saw her flinch.

"Relax, Dearest. You need to relax."

When Cedric began to breech her in earnest the pleasure morphed into something sinister. Fiery fingers of pain pierced her like red hot needles and even the enjoyable movements of his fingertips over her clit couldn't distract her from the first fissures of fear. She jerked away from him reflexively, her hands gripping at his thighs. "I'm scared," she whispered, sounding small and completely unlike the lively young woman he knew.

Her innocent confession tore the breath from his lungs. He lay down atop her once again, kissing her deeply, trying to convey how intensely he regretted the inevitable. Sentiments he didn't know he felt came bubbling to the fore of his mind. He murmured against her lips, uttering some of the truest words he'd ever spoken."You don't need to fear me. I'd never hurt you if I can avoid it."

She nuzzled against him and he was suddenly struck by how small and fragile she felt in his arms. He would stop. They could stop. To do so now would only kill him, but that was a small consequence compared to her comfort. He had his mouth open, about to tell her as much when she nodded, craning her neck to steal a kiss. "Okay, I'm ready."

Her trust in him made his chest ache with a painfully pleasant feeling. He wrapped one arm around the back of her neck, keeping her face close to his, his eyes on her own. He reached between them again, circling her bud in tight, fluid motions until she started to shake and her breath puffed faster against his lips. Something primal began to wind through her, causing her body to grasp and clench, _searching_ for him. When she began to arch towards him, just tipping over that euphoric precipice, she felt him shift and his hips thrust forward.

An involuntary cry tore from her mouth and her whole body clenched. Pain and pleasure rippled through her, both phenomenal in their intensity as her body contracted around the part of him buried inside her. The pleasure subsided first leaving her gasping in its wake, patently unprepared to handle the intimacy of such searing pain.

He smothered a growling groan against her lips. Pleasure and remorse clashed inside him. _I'm dying. This is going to kill me. I'm going to die_. The melodramatic mantra inside his head felt appropriate. Not only did her pain-filled scream tear the heart from his chest, but holding still, waiting for her to accommodate his blunt intrusion was a torture befitting the most capital of crimes. She surrounded his throbbing flesh like a velvet vice, so tight, and wet, and warm, and ... _Oh, god, I'm going to die._ But he found that he had a conscience after all, because he'd wait. He'd wait forever if she needed him to, though he hoped rather desperately that it wouldn't come to that.

He kept the waver out of his voice with effort. "Are you alright?"

Her teeth clenched and she blinked, trying to find some measure of balance, but the pain wouldn't allow her mind to settle. "It's ... not so bad."

"You're a shameless liar."

Her voice quivered. "No, it's fine. I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine," he growled, frustrated by his inability to help her.

Tears slid from the corners of her eyes. She hastened to wipe when away. "Sorry," she sniffled. "I guess I really am all clumsy and blubbering."

Guilt twisted in his chest. He wrapped both arms around her, crushing her against him, hugging her tightly. "Don't listen to me. I'm a fucking idiot. You deserve so much better than me."

"Don't say that."

Classic Sofia, even split with intimate pain she was reassuring him. Though not naturally disposed to thinking of others, for once he wanted to be the one comforting her. He leaned down to kiss her, not with the desperate fire searing in his loins, but slowly, sweetly coaxing her attention away from her discomfort.

He couldn't recall ever taking such care, such patience with a lover. Even previous attempts to satisfy had served his own selfish vanity and shored up his tattered confidence. But he wanted to please Sofia, not for himself, but so she could remember this first flush with pleasure fondly. Life had finally handed him something pure and beautiful and he was determined not to tarnish it. He wanted to be the man she believed him to be. Any dark desires, the wish to see anything but joy and pleasure in her eyes, vanished, replaced by a longing to be the a better man. He could be better for her, because that's what she made him.

When her hands wove into his hair, tugging him closer, his kisses turned hungry. He reached down to caressed her breast, rolling his thumb over her sensitive nipple. A surprising ripple of pleasure caused her to clench around him. The pain was still there but fading into a background echo. Sluggish fire licked through her veins. He sucked her ear lobe between his lips before nipping gently and she gasped at the array of sensation bombarding her at once. When his hips began to rock slowly, she let out a long, shuttering sigh.

Each forward movement brought his a little deeper, that much closer to heaven. His concentration was so torn on not hurting her further that was the only reason he hadn't lost himself completely in the blissful feeling of being inside her. He wanted her to share just a little of that feeling of paradise that he found in her arms. The noises tumbling from her throat were a torment all their own, but when she unexpectedly canted her hips up, taking him higher and deeper than he expected, he groaned in guilty pleasure.

Once the pain subsided, Sofia couldn't believe how incredible he felt within her. Her head fell back, offering up the pale expanse of her throat. He kissed it eagerly as he rocked forward, her moan vibrating beneath his lips. Pinpricks of pain burned down his back where her nails dug in, but he relished the distraction as she squeezed him, stroking his shaft with her velvety depths. She clenched around him and his eyes roll back.

She pleaded with him in sounds that weren't quite words. His thrust became stronger, deeper, drawing them closer together until he was flush against her. Luxurious flames of rapture engulfed her, making her burn. She felt herself teetering on the precipice of another orgasm, but with the added sensation of his body against her, _inside her_ , this one felt cataclysmic. She was almost afraid of the fall, but he was here. Wrapped securely in his arms, she felt safe. She felt _loved_. She kissed him, melding their tongues together, needed him to anchor her.

He'd never felt this way about anyone. He hadn't even known he felt so strongly for her until he was inexorably in the moment. His hand cupped her jaw, fingers tangling in her hair. He pulled his mouth away from hers. "God, I love you," he whispered fiercely.

She felt traitorous tears gather behind her eyes, but these were of joy. She blinked them back, not wanting to ruin this moment. "I love you," she whimpered, voice shaking. Overwrought by sensation and emotion, she felt herself rising higher, every muscle pulled taut in anticipation. She hung in a timeless moment, feeling him slide deep inside her, touching where no one else had. This time she pressed her own hand over her mouth, knowing she couldn't hold in her cry of ecstasy. Her body arched back, straining against him, coming around him.

Cedric watched her come undone. He'd seen many fantastical feats in his long years, but they all paled in comparison to the earthly wonder of seeing Sofia coming apart in his arms. She was almost too beautiful to bear. His body gave a warning throb and he knew he was done for. All sense of rhythm or patience was lost and he gave himself over to the primal needs of his own release. He came with a sharp cry, spine arching him that much closer to her. Molten fire seemed to pour out of him and into her accommodating body. She pulsed around him, drinking in every drop of his essence.

The tides of blinding pleasure crested and ebbed, softening around the edges until the world around them came slowly into focus, filtering in the sound of their panting breaths, the heady scent of their lovemaking. Cedric collapsed, trying valiantly not to smother her with his weight, but he felt boneless and completely spent. Sofia hummed in contentment, stroking her hands restlessly over his back. Occasionally her breath caught as a latent throb squeezed her around their intimate connection.

He managed to drag his weight off her, disengaging their limbs and flesh. He rolled onto his side, one arm thrown over her waist. He caressed her shoulder with his lips, surprised to find that he hadn't had his fill of her yet. She curled onto her side facing him. Her kiss-swollen lips sought his out, and he drew her fully into his arms. She wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, tangling her leg between his.

Cedric kissed her leisurely, unbelieving that he could ever feel this content, this complete. He pressed his hand against the small of her back until they were flush against each other. His other hand threaded into her hair, thumb rubbing lightly over her temple. He spoke quietly, not wanting to intrude on this tender moment. "How do you feel?"

Her slow, satisfied smile made him grow warm with pride. "Wonderful."

He continued to caress her, fighting off the drowsy desire to sleep. They didn't have the luxury of lying all evening in his bed. He wondered dimly if anyone was looking for her or what story she might have told explaining her absence. He should ask, but he didn't want to remind her of the eventual need for her to leave. They should get up. They should get dressed, but he couldn't bring himself to move. He wanted to stay here, wrapped in her arms, and her warmth, and her love forever.

He sighed, kissing her forehead. She snuggled impossibly closer, murmuring nonsense sounds. There were things that needed to be attended to, but it could wait. His sheets were probably ruined, but he couldn't dredge up the energy to care.

"So," Sofia murmured, "Does this mean my lessons are no longer cancelled?"

He held her tight, thinking of all the reason why he should say no, all the ways this could end in flaming disaster. In a dark moment he had offered to ruin her completely and now he feared he would do exactly that. No one knew. She could still walk away reputation unscathed. She claimed to love him, but she was young. Perhaps he was an infatuation to her. Perhaps she would move on some day. His selfish nature reared, filling him with the voracious need to keep her near for as long as possible.

"I suppose," he answered her, his mind already busy plotting.

"Good," she giggled drowsily, completely unaware of his thoughts, "Because I believe you have a few things left to teach me."

They might yet make a burning wreck of an end, but oh, what a ruin he would make it.

-The end-

* * *

Author's Note: Okay, so about that sequel ... I'm determined to finish Intoxicated first. So I'll be turning my focus on completing that fic. So keep your eyes peeled for updates on that. The sequel to this story will be titled Lessons. It will mostly be a collection of vignettes loosely strung together with a story line. Basically an excuse to write a whole lot more M-rated stuff. ;)

Reviews, please! Let me know how you liked the fic, what you'd like to see in the sequel, any random thoughts, anything! I love your reviews!


End file.
